Here We Go Again.

(Blah, blah, blah.....warning..... blah, blah, blah...disgusting.....blah, blah, blah,....don't eat lunch and read....)

I'm nekkid. (check)
In a flimsy robe. (check)
On the exam table. (check)
Feet flat on the table, knees up. (check)
Hose in my brown eye. (check)

*sigh*

You would think that I would learn by now, right? How do I keep finding myself in this situation?? I honestly do not have an answer for this question.

The holistic internist (Who will now be known as The Anal Prober) does not believe in pain killers. (of course she doesn't, right?) So, I'm doing this sober. (and hungry, I might add) She has me lie on my side, as she penetrates me. (....take that all in for a moment......) I am to lay on my back with my knees bent for the next 45 mins. The clear hose is connected to a machine on the wall. It's right next to my head, so I don't miss a thing. (Hey, when did I last eat corn??) She turns a few knobs, and warm water fills my cavity. (I know that it is not possible, but I swear I thought that water was coming up my throat.) As soon as she feels resistance, she stops the flow. She complains that I "don't hold much". I feel compelled to explain that small colons must run in my family.
"Hold it....hold it......" she instructs.
"Um..how?"
I guess that she was telling me to fight the urge to bear down. No problem, the last thing I wanted to do was shit myself in a robe.
A few seconds later she would push a few buttons, and the vacuum would start. Everything would be sucked into the machine, via the clear hose. As it entered the machine, it ran through a clear little holding cell, before it was vacuumed away. As it entered the holding cell, The Anal Prober would comment on the substances.
"Oh, see that? That's been in there for a while."
"Oh, see that? That purple tint? Those are toxins."
"Oh, see that? You cheated on your diet and ate beans."
"Oh, see that? That greenish tint? That can build up and kill you."
She was seriously making conversation with me, like we were two old bats at lunch. I never answered her. (I couldn't even speak. I was concentrating on not shitting myself.) But, luckily for all of us, it didn't seem like she expected any answers.
This painful and humiliating treatment finally came to an end. She pulled out her weapons of torture, handed me a towel and handed me a tip envelope. (I'm not sure what part of that sentence was the more humiliating.)
I got dressed, and wasted time looking for my shoes before I remembered that they were confiscated. I flip flopped out of there. As I walked out the door, she says, "see you tomorrow."

Muther f'er!