CONFESSION OF AN INTREPID DIGIT
In the world of medical specialities, proctology is often the butt of the joke, and I take umbrage with this slander. So, my profession is not as racy or extravagant as that of the heart surgeon, say. Do I not go through just as many (if not more) latex gloves in a week? Even amongst the other doctors –quick, serious, immeasurably kind people– there was an air about my choice– a stink that they shied away from, no matter my protestations at medical school. “Proctology is a noble profession,” they all agreed, “a vital, and often neglected element of healthcare that alleviates the suffering of hundreds of thousands of patients by bravely probing where others dare not explore; but, well, what could drive a man to devote his entire life to popping his finger up other people’s rectums?” The great mystery that distanced me from my peers. Medical school is no cake walk. It was hard enough getting by without the sly ridicule and the ostracization, but I knuckled down, I pulled my finger out, and now I am a very well accomplished colorectal doctor.
And let me state, firmly, decisively, definitively, that there isn’t the slightest thing fun-ny about
