Last time, we focused on new holes in your outside.
Today, we'll look at the other end of things, so to speak. That hole that came already installed when you came from the factory.
Sorry, yes, we're going there. Or rather, you've already gone there, or will someday. Ask me how I know...
See, the thing is, if you've seen something in the average supermarket or hardware store, the odds are that someone somewhere has tried to insert in someplace rather...awkward. And that probably includes ladders and paint buckets, though I have no actual experience with that patient. Yet.
But I'm still relatively young, so who knows.
I know you think it's terribly clever when you cryptically write "Personal problem" on your sign in sheet. But it's not, because we're going to ask for the details. And then, my charge nurse and 5 docs in back are going to call me and ask me what's going on with the sign in on the tracker. So pardon the entendre, but just put it out there.
We're not going to announce it over the outside PA or anything.
Back in the day, when x-rays were still on film instead of computerized digital miracles, we used to have an x-ray viewing room. When an x-ray tech said, "Hey, check this out" I thought nothing of it. But upon seeing over a foot of latex product from Doc Johnson waaaaay too far up someone's alimentary canal, I was glad I hadn't been drinking a cup of water or coffee. And I was really glad the lad involved was in another module, because I couldn't possibly have kept a straight face for two seconds.
Worse, the accomplice/girlfriend was there with him, and he/they had waited three days hoping things would work themselves out, to no avail. Surgical removal, sports fans.
Another time, one of our docs treated a gentleman who tried to plausibly maintain that he'd just happened to be changing a light bulb, naked, at 2 AM, slipped, and fallen in such a way that the intact lightbulb had boldy gone where no man had gone before. When no one over the age of 30 seconds was buying the story, he angrily proclaimed "So?! I'm not GAY or anything!"
My response is, no of course you aren't. And it wouldn't matter if you were.
What you are, is Curious George's stupid cousin, minus the prehensile tail.
And heaven help you when all bulbs are those spaghetti swirls, let alone if the glass used isn't up to spec. Yikes.
Don't think it's all guys though. (Actually, they're only about 90% of cases.) When you're a female who sits on a plastic chair, and everyone keeps looking for their cell phone going off on vibrate until they all realize it's you, well, welcome to the club.
The club of people with light bulbs up their keester, lost toys gone astray (they don't all end up on an island near the North Pole), or batteries up in your urethra (yes, really!), just among the more noteworthy exemplars.
So, as a PSA, a few tips:
1) I'm not judging your choice of playgrounds or toys, but if you end up in the ER, you're doing something (probably several things) wrong. I've heard rumors there are books and manuals, which you might wish to consult before your next excursion in the bedroom turns instead to a vist to one of our gurneys. "Trained professionals. Closed course. Do not attempt at home." isn't just for car commercials.
2) Whenever personal lubricants are involved, please kids, use a safety rope! Slippery things will get away from you, and you can't wish them back once they do.
And "Oops!" is not a safeword.
3) Before inserting anything anywhere, bust out a smidgen of logic, and mentally wargame out all the possible decision trees of what happens if your chosen implement(s) breaks, shatters, lodges, disappears, or what have you. Then work around those problems so they don't happen because they can't.
4) This is especially true if you're the accomplice: If your relationship isn't strong enough to withstand a possibly red-faced mutual trip to the ER despite following #1-3 above, then mayhap the original adventure might have been skipped as well, or at least kept a lot more on the vanilla side of the spectrum. Find something more fun to bond over than one of you waking up nauseated in post-op, when the surgeon returns your piece of errant property to you. Matter of fact, if you're going to blow $10,000 on a date, make it Paris or Tahiti, not Main Surgery.