A couple of weeks ago, at an old-school Italian restaurant in northern New Jersey, my friend and I convinced my sister to sing. Because nothing goes better with pasta fagioli (pronounced fah-ZOOL) than nightly karaoke.
It was the kind of place that makes it impossible for us native Jerseyians to say, “Oh, no, The Sopranos was a gross exaggeration.” After a few glasses of questionable Sangria, my sister relented. Her pick? Baby Got Back.
A small fan club formed and we all had a good laugh. We could never have predicted just how ominous her song of choice would turn out to be.
One week later, during our usual exercise/excuse-to-gab routine, my sister lowered her voice and said, “There’s something on my butt.”
I looked behind her. “I don’t see anything.”
“No,” she muttered. “Like, in my butt.”
I raised one eyebrow. “Go on.”
“I don’t know what it is, but it hurts like hell.”
“Is it from cycling?” I asked. She and I are avid road cyclists, and that past week she had put in well over 100 miles on her bike.
“I don’t know, but I think I’m going to have to,” she paused dramatically, “Call the doctor.”
Two days later, she was already on her second visit to the OB-GYN.
“I’m going to have to perform a rectal exam,” the doctor said, snapping on a latex glove.
“Can you use a lot of gel?” my sister wept, legs splayed and pride long gone.
In just two days, what turned out to be an abscess had grown larger than the size of an avocado pit, and was located just outside of her… ah, backdoor.
“I need you to get rid of it,” my sister pleaded, voice nearing hysteria. “I can’t even sleep!”
“Oh yes, we will,” a second doctor said.
“Can you do it here?”
“We need to go to the hospital.”
My sister looked at me, torn between the relief that this might be over, and the sheer terror one must feel in realizing a scalpel would soon graze their most sensitive of bits.
Yes, I was in the room the whole time.
When asked how this happened, or what to do to prevent it, the doctor merely offered, “This is a total fluke. You don’t have to worry about this happening again.”
Many hours later, when all was said and done drained and doped up, the doctor left my sister with a stern warning:
“I don’t want you exercising for 30 days. Don’t even sweat.”
Any other fun medical oddities happening out there? Don’t be shy. We have extra gel.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Go Jules Go 
wow, this is so crazy on so many levels. i love her appropriate choice of song and glad there was a happy ending. )
Right?? She’s doing great – amazing how quickly you can come back from rock BOTTOM. 😉
Actually, I’m dealing with a medical oddity as well…. So weird that you’re writing about this! Anyway, I have a stone in my parotid gland. What’s that, you ask? A gland in my face. It may take surgery to remove.
Only me.
Okay, I think you win, butt, I mean, hands down. Here’s hoping you can avoid surgery – I hope you’ll keep us posted!
Please don’t make your sister the butt of jokes. (Sorry, couldn’t resist. I hope she’s doing much better.)
She was calling it her “lovely lady lump” – I’m pretty sure that’s going to be her next karaoke pick. I think she’s gonna chop that 30 day recovery time in half!
My sympathies to your sister — I’ve had one of those. Mine was inside, though.
Currently, I am pooping flaming bricks from the feel of it. Does that count as weird since it happens every time some random spice enters my food and makes it taste good?
Did they give you any insight into the cause? That’s been the most frustrating part for my sister – no way to know what caused it = no way to know how to avoid it in the future.
Ha! …But it’s worth it, isn’t it?
Mine are Crohn’s related. But I don’t know the cause. Bacteria is probably at the bottom of it.
Jeez, the human body is weird.
My dad, poor dear, has some kind of internal sore right on his tail bone that won’t heal, although they cleared up the outside sore a couple of years ago. He’s always in various stages of pain when seated, and now that his energy is nonexistent (he’s on dialysis and will be 90 next month) he’s almost always sitting.
I have lost almost all claim to having a butt since losing weight – not a brag, because I somehow managed to maintain my gut – and have started to feel the tailbone pressure business as well.
Jeez, the human body is weird.
Congratulations on your well-deserved award, and hope your sister feels better soon!
BTW, trying to read your sister’s bracelet. Does it say “flight risk”, like with convicts?
Ha! That’s what I thought when I first saw it on her, too! “Fall Risk” – which is equally prone to pun-filled shenanigans, I’m sure you’ll be shocked to hear.
I hope your sister’s butt is returned to normal with good speed. And you’re a great sister being there for the whole thing. i hope you;re not scarred by it in any way. The idea of attending butt surgery for my brother fills me with horror.
She too is hoping she’s not scarred in any way.
Was it a thrombosed hemorrhoid? Your poor sister.
My Sis just had colo-rectal surgery after about a year of chemo and waiting and stuff. The surgery was successful, she will have some medical issues forever, but the cancer is gone. I understand how scary that would all be.
Glad it worked out.
Scott
PS – I know I am old, but if you ever decide to travel across the country to date someone – um, I would be happy to be that someone.
Good god! I certainly hope her butt is better now…?
I know this was just hellish for her…and I feel so guilty…but I think I bust a gut laughing at this post. Especially the line, “Go on.” I DIED!!! bwa ha ha!! Holy shit so freaking funny!!
(ahem) Again, please extend to your sister my sincerest sympathy. I wish her a speedy recovery.
And we all know about my own strange medical issues I wrote about in detail last year. I think once I typed the words “bowel resection” and “constipation” on my blog I lost every shred of modesty I ever had (not that I had much to begin with) Once you go “back”, you can’t come back.
1) You make me miss those Jersey Italian restaurants. Ever try The Drop Zone in Roselle? Weirdest restaurant ever. It was run by a WWII fanatic and laid out like a military mess hall, parachutes everywhere. They played non stop Frank Sinatra and the salad was served in huge metal bowls mess hall style. The owner would play the National Anthem & expect everyone to stand up & salute. A lawyer who was eating there sued him over it & lost. The night we were there… I kid you not…. an older fat man walked in, and went to the front of the room. Everything stopped. Even Frank. Then a lined formed to pay respects. The Sopranos? Uh… yeah.
2) Does your sister know you posted this, uh… rather intimate episode? because if not, you might fond yourself needing a proctologist!