IDK. More later. Or not. I’m not sure. Maybe I need a break from writing about this too? In a way, it seems to make the whole thing worse. Who said writing was therapeutic? In this case, it feels like torture. It makes it more real to have it written down like this.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“So, a doctor?” I finally asked. The bartender had very kindly put a bottle of tequila down for us “compliments of shitty life.” We were probably on our fourth revolting shot, each time we had one vowing. It would be our last as we grimaced and almost choked on the vile liquid.
“Yes,” he said in a bit of a slurry manner.
“And she left you? Who leaves a doctor?”
“Exactly.” He banged his hand on the counter.
“What kind of doctor?” I asked.
But Alex didn’t answer immediately. He poured himself another shot of tequila and downed it. He slapped the shot glass down onto the table and then looked me straight in the eye.
“Colorectal surgeon.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll give you a moment to figure it out.” He crossed his legs and folded his arms casually.
“Ooooh, this all sounds so mysterious,” I whispered.
“Not at all,” he said. “In fact, there is nothing mysterious about what I do.” He fixed his eyes on me expectantly.
“Okay . . . Colorectal surgeon, colorectal surgeon,” I repeated the words to myself a few times until a familiar word jumped out at me. “Colo . . .wait, rectal?” I asked, putting my hand over my mouth in shock as I said it out loud. It wasn’t the kind of word you found yourself saying that much in public. Or ever.
He nodded.
“As in, um . . . rectum?” I muttered under my breath.
“Rectum,” he repeated, and my face flushed.Why is it that when you hear certain words they make you feel instantly queasy?Like vulva or anus, for instance.
“A proctologist?” I asked slowly. I could now feel the amusement bubbling up inside me. It was small at first, but then it grew until I couldn’t quite hold it down anymore. He smiled at me and I burst out laughing.
“Oh my God, that’s a good one.” The words shot out in between the loud guffaws. I held my hand up for a high-five. This guy was funny . . .or was he? Shit!His smile faltered and suddenly he looked serious.
“You weren’t joking?” I pulled my high-five hand out of the air.
“No.” He shook his head and started pouring more shots of tequila.
“Oh, sorry.” I swallowed hard, feeling terribly ashamed that I’d just laughed at this actual surgeon who’d probably studied for a hundred years to become one—regardless of which body part his specialty was based around.
“Yeah, that’s kind of the reaction I get from most people,” he said. “Feel free to take a few moments to make some jokes about it.”
“Uh, like what?” I asked innocently, knowing full well that I could probably really run with this one. I could run far!
“Oh, don’t act innocent.” He handed me a drink. “Go for it. I don’t mind, I’ve heard it all before anyway.”
“Okay,” I said slowly and tentatively, sipping my drink. “I’m sure you’ve been the butt of many jokes.”
“No! That’s a lame one. You can do better than that, Val.” He was smiling at me, egging me on.
“Okay.” I thought about it for a while, but nothing came to me.
“I’ll give you one for free,” he said. “So at the annual medical conference, someone in general surgery thought it would be funny to make a sign that said ‘Proctologists do it from behind.’ He hung it on the wall outside of our conference room.”
I tried to keep my laughter in but couldn’t. When it finally tapered off I reached over and touched his hand. “I’m so sorry people make jokes like that. That must suck,” I said. “And I really didn’t mean to jump on the bandwagon either, it’s just, you don’t meet proctologists often,or ever. Personally, I’ve never had anyone up there, not that I wouldn’t go to one if I needed that looked at,up there, and I’m sure you’re really good at what you do,up there,not that I would ever,ever, come to you if I needed that um . . . my rectum . . .shit!Can I stop talking now?”
