The Adventures of Mr. Happy

THE ADVENTURES OF MR. HAPPY

“Now, Mr. Teel, this might hurt some.” I am not by nature shy, nor am I an exhibitionist. Of course, one must have something to brag about but I am not that guy. All the same, a person must have his dignity. But, when you are in need of medical help, none of that matters. And, yes, it is going to hurt. A lot.

In a short time the pain in my gut went from it hurts, to it hurts bad, to it hurts like hell. From that point it got worse. Isn’t it impressive how your body goes from being your friend not bothering you and obeying your commands to having a mind of its own and out of control. You don’t even have to think about putting one foot in front of another. It takes place without a conscious thought. But, when you get sick, your feet must be commanded to move. Unfortunately, your bowels do not require that level of insistence. 

At the urging, or should I say direct order of my wife, I went to the doctor. Great guy. Funny and competent. After blood tests and an embarrassing urine test (I spilled it trying to place it on the designated spot and had to start over), my doctor was perplexed.

“Wes, you are sick.” All those years of medical school and I get this opinion. 

“Well, what do I have?” I asked. 

“I was wondering about that.” He said. But, he wasn’t smiling. “You are going to the hospital now.” Not a good sign.

I have good luck with hospitals. After a tonsillectomy, massive heart attack, triple bypass, stents, a pacemaker, assorted tests and bloodlettings, two cataracts, two rotator cuff repairs, oh, and another more fancy pacemaker, I am no stranger to hospitals. I was bent over in agony and could hardly breath. I was cold and hot and shivering. Over and over. Somehow, I made it to the emergency room. 

One time I got sick on a cruise to Alaska. In the middle of the night, I had the worse butt explosion. It went all over me, my pajamas, and the bed. It was a small cabin and my wife was in a separate bed next to me. It saved her life, and mine too.   I just wanted to die. But, my wife wouldn’t let me. I begged her to let me lay on the floor and die. But, she wouldn’t. I will never forget the look on the steward’s face when he came into our cabin. It was at once shock and disgust. He knew what his duty was going to be. Poor guy. I would have jumper overboard had I been him. 

“Oh, Mr. Wes. You sick. You sick.” He said. I was too. He gathered me up and stood me in the shower and helped me wash off. My wife was appreciative he was there because that job would have fallen to her. That guy was great. He helped me shower, cleaned me up, cleaned the room, and dumped me back in bed. He got a huge tip at the end of the trip. When I get sick I am in bad shape. 

Back to my bowels. I was in agony in the emergency room. Thank God the doctor administered morphine and it took the edge off my pain. “I’m going to get a C scan and a sonogram and see what’s going on.” Not too long after he left, a very attractive lady in scrubs enters the room. 

“Hi there.” Oh, so friendly. You ever notice the more friendly medical personnel are, the worse off you are? She wheeled a big machine next to me. “The doctor said you need a sonogram so we can tell what’s wrong. Ok?” 

Well, lady, of course it is ok. I’m dying here. But, I nod my consent. A sonogram I am thinking. This is painless. I remember seeing pictures of mothers to be getting a wand across their bellies and the baby being revealed. So, no big deal.

“Now, Mr. Teel, you need to pull down your jeans.” Uh, ok.

“Pull them down further,” she says. So, she must not want to get the gel on my pants. I comply and wait for her to begin.

“Now, pull your underwear all the way down.” What the? Pull my underwear down? What the heck is going on here? I can’t remember the last time a woman asked me to do that. Wait a minute. I remember now. 

“We have to a get a good picture of your testicles,” she sweetly smiled. I don’t get a lot of women looking at my testicles these days much less taking a picture of them. I was a little embarrassed. No, I was a lot embarrassed. 

“Ma’am, I have something wrong with my stomach.” I protest. “There must be a mistake.”

“Well, the doctor said you might have twisted your testicles.” This information is news to me. I am stunned. The ER doc never mentioned this to me. She senses this and explains this can happen to men. Duh? Of course it could happen to men. And, only men. But how? I am nearly seventy years old and I think I would know if I did something odd or kinky or naughty with my testicles. And, dang it I didn’t. 

“Now, you just lie there and relax.” She orders. “The gel might be a little cool.”

Cool. Cool. No. Not cool. Freezing cold. She is taking her time lathering the gel on my private parts. 

“I’m getting some good pictures.” She lets me know. I don’t know how she thinks she is getting good pictures. That first touch of icy gel send my balls sailing north past my Adam’s apple in my throat. We’re just old buddies now after the first ten minutes. She really is nice and friendly and cute. Too cute. As she dangles her machine over and around my machine, I am getting worried. Be professional I tell myself. This is just clinical. You know what happens when someone tells you not to think of a blue elephant. Right then Mr. Happy seems to stir ever so slightly. No, Mr. Happy. No. Go back to sleep Mr. Happy. Damn you Mr. Happy. Obey me. Oh, God, don’t think of that blue elephant I tell myself. Do not further embarrass yourself in front of this sonogram lady. My forehead is breaking out in bullets of sweat. 

“Ok.” She says after the longest ten minutes of my life. I’m looking for her to say we’re done. But, no. “Now, let’s do your other testicle.” Agggggh. I cringe. But, she does not hesitate for an instant. So off we go. Round two of the Freeze My Ball game. Quite, Mr. Happy. Please, God. 

Finally, she finishes. “Ok, that wasn’t so bad was it? She says. “We got some good pictures.” I want to warn her I better not see them on Facebook. But, of course, I don’t. We had a moment there. Was she suitable impressed? Would she tell all her friends? Probably not. Oh, well. It is for the best. 

Following my ordeal the next three days in the hospital even with all the blood sticks, IV’s, bad food, and isolation were nothing. I had diverticulitis, an inflammation of the lining of the intestines. I survived. 

Once in a while I think back to the sonogram. I swallow. I fidget. If I get nostalgia I suppose I’ll just strip naked sit on an ice pack for fun.  

When I had my pacemaker installed I was joking with the nurse. She brought in a urinal for me to use because I couldn’t get out of bed. “That thing won’t work.” I said. “I isn’t wide enough and it isn’t deep enough for me.” 

She turned around in a dash. I thought I had offended her. In about a minute she and three other nurses came in the room. She handed me tiny glass vile.

“You forgot, Mr. Teel, I was in the operating room and I am pretty sure this little vile will fit you just fine.” 

She laughed and I laughed and my wife laughed and all the other nurses laughed too. She got me. I deserved it too. Take that Mr. Happy. 

Wes Teel

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