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One of the most painful ailments. Painful physically and to your dignity. No matter how sympathetic people are towards you when you are suffering from piles, there is still that slight hint of an amused twinkle in their eyes, which you valiantly try to ignore. I got afflicted by that ailment at the height of my career, at the most glorious time in my lifespan, so that the indignity could not have taken a more public scope than it did, or been more embarrassing. The state of my ailment had reached epic proportions where it had to be dealt with surgically. Is there any way you can announce that you are having an operation of this nature without evoking at least ten “ass” jokes?!
Worse still, my surgeon happened to be a good family friend, with a wicked sense of humor. He also happens to be an excellent plastic surgeon. So on the appointed day I was sedated in my hospital room then wheeled into surgery where I did not have to consciously endure the indignity of being spread-eagled for better view and access by all and sundry. Thank God I was spared that, but the imagination can sometimes be your worst enemy.
To say that this operation was the most painful in my medically varied career, is to put it mildly. The pain is horrendous. But what is worse is you cannot even groan about it with dignity! If you break a leg, you moan my leg hurts, but you cannot keep saying my asshole hurts! And when you just refer to it as IT hurts, it is never as satisfying! This embarrassment carries over to the way you are treated by one and all. Visitors are careful how they phrase their questions about how you feel, to avoid any mention of that particular part of your anatomy, while nurses are so used to it they just breeze into your room full of visitors, and in the loudest voices ever, ask : have we passed any gas or stools today? After a few of those incidents I used to reply with as much dignity as I could muster: I don’t know, have you? Which usually elicited blank looks from the nurses, and some muffled chuckles from my visitors.
One of the inevitable aspects of such a situation is that you have to endure all the “ass” and “asshole” jokes ever invented. But I must admit, some of them were pretty funny. The one I remember had to do with who’s the boss: the punch line was “an asshole who passes shit”. This fit my current boss to a T, so it was the only joke I had a heart to repeat.
Joking aside, this was the most painful of my medical adventures. For three weeks after the operation, every time I had a bowel movement, I fainted because of the pain. But everything passes (pun not intended). Even the indignity is eventually buried, deep, in your memory. The only thing remaining is the fact that I am now free of that horrible pain, and that I have the most beautiful asshole by one of the best plastic surgeons in the country!