Yeah, it’s a hemi.

The last couple of days have managed to stip me of a good part of the remaining dignity I’ve been desperately holding on to, since I got married and started raising children. Before I continue, let me caution anyone who isn’t interested in hearing a very personal story about my nether regions. Consider yourself warned.

I woke up the other morning with a nice, burning, itching sensation ‘down there.’ You know, on my bung hole. I came to eventually learn that yep, it was a hemi (hemorrhoid, that is). I know hemorrhoids are one of those things that nobody wants to talk about, like menstruation, the state of our retirement system, or the fact that grandma is going crazy, but I know I can’t be the only person to have to suffer this kind of humiliating and painful condition, so I thought I’d share my experience, just for the sake of solidarity.

As my conditioned worsened and I learned how little fun it is to go number 2 with a raging sphincter-blimp, I decided to gear up for a covert mission to the drug store and pick up some of that Preparation-H stuff I’ve heard about. It wasn’t something I was looking forward to, but I figured it couldn’t be any more embarrassing than having to buy feminine hygiene products for my wife. Plus, I’m a man, right? I can handle going to the store to buy hemorrhoid cream without getting flustered, right? I just have to get in, find the medicine and get out. No problem.

When I got to the medicine aisle, though, my carefully orchestrated plan fell to pieces. There I found 4 women busy stocking the shelves. As I squeezed between them all, looking up an down the aisle for the magical solution to my problem, one of the four, a nice old lady with unnaturally red hair, asked if she could help me find anything. I was obviously lost, but I hung my head and said, ‘no, thanks,’ as if I were just perusing the medicines to see if there might be anything I wanted to experiment with. I berated myself for being a chicken, but when the next lady at the other end of the aisle asked me the same thing, I couldn’t accept her help, lest it call even more attention to my plight. Finally I spotted the Preppy-H, but then I had to stand there and choose from among the 17 different brands, sizes and varieties available. I’m incapable of buying anything that I’m not sure is the best value, so it took me a minute of enduring what I was sure was the quiet chuckles of the helpful old crones, but I finally settled on a nice, maximum strength, green tube of creme.

Luckily there was an older gentleman cashier available at the check-out, one who I was sure would not judge me and laugh at my pain. I quickly checked out and headed home, where I got to enjoy the application of the product I had so endeavored to purchase, and find out that said product doesn’t actually do anything to cure my condition or relieve the pain of it. What a wonderful life.

So, if you see me hobbling around the next few days, like I’ve just been out riding fences, you’ll know why. It’s just God’s way of knocking me down a peg or two. As if ear hair wasn’t enough.

6 Responses

  1. STOP! You’re killing me with this stuff! Your stories are SO. DANG. FUNNY!
    Please tell me you went to Ream’s. I need to know my visual was accurate.
    Oh crap Mike. This really was too funny.

    You still have dignity though. Until you lie bare-ass naked with both legs in the air while pushing a watermelon out something the size of a lemon (with at least a dozen people “observing”) you will always have dignity remaining.

  2. It was, indeed, Ream’s.

  3. Finally a blog I can really relate to. Your candor on this matter is poetic. Of the ten million people in the U.S. that suffer with this tragic malady, you sir are the bravest. As a fellow member of this elite society, I feel your pain and wish you best of luck upon the road that follows. Our motto must be, “Sphincter Solidarity.” But I digress, for those of weak constitution may not comprehend our plight. Carry on! I look forward to similar descretional posts in the future. Hope all is well.

  4. I am proud of you for sharing that story. I don’t think I could have.

  5. Hey Jeff,
    Welcome. Long time, no see. I’m going to add your blog to my SHS alumni blog list, if that’s OK. Glad to see I’m not alone in my suffering. I will go and register 🙂

  6. Mike,

    That was awesome. Great story. Unfortunately I have not yet had the pleasure of feeling anal roid rage. I can only hope. Oddly enough, I pictured Reams too. You know, a lesser man would have passed it off on their wife when they were at the store, you my friend withstood the slings and arrows like a real man.


    If you really gave birth “bare-ass naked” your doctor took some serious liberty, did he take pictures too? Need a lawyer? (It against the law to solicit, I am completely kidding).

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