Doc: Why are you here?
Me: Hemorrhoids again.
Doc: That's unlikely.
Me: Really? Even after if an accident screwed things up. Or too I got too many laxatives in the hospital?
Doc: Let's have a look...
Doc: You don't have hemorrhoids. Who told you you have hemorrhoids?
Me: Felt like last time. I thought it must be hemorrhoids.
Doc: It wasn't your family doctor? You self-diagnosed?
Me: Well. yes. It felt like last time, my doc said I could cut him out as the middle man.
Doc: You don't have hemorrhoids.
...
Doc: Wait...what's this??
On a positive note, he said shortly afterward, that as far as this particular ass problem goes, if he had to have it, he'd prefer to have my instance as I can go in on a Saturday for two hours and be back at work on a Monday morning, uncomfortable, but functional. So now I have to go get an ultrasound, followed by a two hour "procedure". Procedure clearly doesn't deserve quotes, but as it requires being put under and a knife and/or laser, it's obviously the politically correct way of saying surgery.
Now I'm going to go ride my bike. I'll regale you with more tale and less mystery later. I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise for my wife, who's enjoying Iceland. Guess Scooter's Butt Issue is probably a gambling pool all of Reykjavik can wager on.
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