Today, three strangers have seen my bottom - HORRENDOUS!

tODAY, i HAVE JUST RETURNED FROM A HOSPITAL APPOINTMENT AND HAVE FORGOTTEN TO TAKE OFF MY CAPS LOCK ON THE COMPUTER.

<SHUFfle shuffle>

Ah! That's better.

Now, where was I?

Oh yes......I had a "special" appointment made for today, to see my consultant regarding some rather serious rumblings in the lower abdomen department, half way between the nethers and where the rib cage meets in the middle,

Thinking that I was going to be there all day, I took along several papers, a paperback book, a bag of toffees and a small carton of fruit juice.
The idea was that they were going to stick some sort of garden hose down my throat and have a bit of a shufti, to see what was going on.

I arrived early and was immediately struck by the lack of other people waiting, and was told that the consultant, my surgeon who butchered me in a professional way some two or three years ago, was on "stand by" duty for any emergency ops that may be needed, owing to the fact that today is a Bank Holiday.
To use his time wisely, he was seeing the likes of me on "special" appointments, but may have to be called away at any minute if a real emergency arises.

This meant that the general unwashed working class were nowhere to be seen, apart from one lady who was knitting, and ME! Marvellous!

A nurse approached me in the corridor, and ticked my name of the list, which must have numbered all of four people. She then handed me a surgical gown, which being made by third world gay masochists no doubt, was covered in a pretty pattern of small flowers and had ties strings up the back. Not an easy thing to tie when one's fingers resemble half a pound of pork sausages wedged on the end of each arm.

I was given a little shopping basket in which to place my clothes and shown to a small cubicle which is very much like what one finds in the changing rooms of the swimming baths.

I looked at this garment quizzically, and mentioned to the nurse that as I was only going to have a scope down the throat, all I had to do was remove my cravat and loosen my shirt.

She said that procedure was procedure, and duly packed me off to the cubicle.

Now.....I don't know whether any of you have worn one of these things, but I'll tell you now that it is impossible, however much one tries, to conceal one's arse once the garment is tied up.

Clothes in basket, I shuffled my way sideways past the knitting lady, only to realise that both cheeks were on full display to the grinning receptionist.

I stifled a shocked yelp as the buttocks made contact with the cold, plastic chair, and levelled the viewing score several minutes later, when the knitting lady gave me a full moon of her ampleness as she went in to have her own personal garden hose thrust somewhere.

About half an hour later, with knitting lady having disappeared out of some rear door I suppose, I was called in.

As I squeezed my cheeks together in order to make as small a viewing target as possible, I glanced behind me only to see a seedy looking little man scowling at my rear end.
Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be my reflection in the mirror at the end of the corridor.

Once in, I met the butcher of North London, who shook my hand and said that he remembered my operation. I thanked him for giving me such a wonderful jagged scar, as a nurse took my little basket.

The most difficult part of the procedure was then upon me. How does one climb up on to a high table, without spreading and exposing one's rear end to the nurse who is standing directly behind one?

I managed to show everything on offer, twisted myself round to a lying position whilst almost completely removing the garment in the process, and waited for the dreaded syringe.

Now...I have a mortal fear of syringes, and the mere sight of one sends me into an instant cold sweat.
This dreaded fear is what some Psychiatrists (and dlowan will back me up on this) call "affobia", and I had one....big time.

It was obviously on my notes, from the last time they had to revive me I suppose, as the surgeon approached me with one arm hidden behind his back, but was fooling no-one.

In an effort to calm me, he said "don't worry Ellpus, it's just a little prick, it'll be in and out in five seconds, and it won't hurt a bit".

My mind immediately flashed back to that time my geography teacher propositioned me in the stock cupboard when I was in the first form, so I closed my eyes and though of England.

Next bloody thing I knew, he was telling me it was all done, and I could go and flash my arse in the corridor again! - MARVELLOUS!

I made my way, with the aid of a different nurse (just in case of delayed affobia, I think) to the cubicle, she took one long look at my arse before I slammed the door, and got dressed as quickly as possible, bearing in mind that the strings up my back were now firmly knotted, and the process of undoing them led me to inadvertantly headbutt the side wall on two occasions.

I then waited a while to see the consultant for a chat, whereupon he slurred some latin words, saw my total confusion and let me know in plain English that he was pretty certain that I was OK, and it was just inflamed (it happens from time to time with me)

There was no sign of an abscess (my last problem) and that he had taken three samples of tissue for analysis as a simple precaution, but not to worry.

The result will be available tomorrow, or Wednesday morning and I can phone in to find out whether they want me to go and expose my buttocks again.

HOORAH!