Ever since my initial doctor's visit I seem to have run the full gamut of tests possible for a man my age. I've had the usual bloodwork and urinalysis, but also an electro- AND echo-cardiogram, a chest x-ray, and some kind of test where they basically stuck a needle in my neck and took a piece of my thyroid for clinical study. I've seen all these professionals and more over the past week. Is there something wrong with me? Unlikely, but due to my extensive history of family medical trauma, my new doctor has decided to just go nuts.

Speaking of nuts, I'm officially old enough to have my doctor feel all around my groin area to test for hernias. Really? A hernia? Doc, I think if I had a hernia I'd be the first to know about it. I'd be more than happy to give YOU that news.

The doc wasn't exactly Joe Cool about asking me to participate in his little experiment, either. He turned to me as I was hopping off of that little tissue-covered test bed they have in there, and he suddenly says, "Gonna need to test you for hernias. Go ahead and drop 'em."

"Drop what?" I asked, already knowing the horrible, horrible answer.

"Your pants," the doctor said wryly.

"Oh, right," I responded, fiddling with my belt. I managed to get my pants partially off when I saw my boxer briefs come into view. I saw a chance for escape from this torture. "Both of them?" I asked, a small glimmer of hope rising in me.

"Yes, both," my doctor impatiently said, effectively casting my soul into shadows and cancelling Christmas in the process.

So there I stood, my pants hanging somewhere around my knees, as a certified medical professional started fondling all around my man-business. I really wasn't sure what to say. I felt like I should make some light conversation about the local sports team, but I don't watch baseball or anything, and I'm pretty sure if I had just randomly started talking about things that interest ME things would get a little weird.

Me: So what did you think about that last season of Gilmore Girls?
Doc: How dare you bring up that awful last season! It was horrible! That show was ruined the day Amy Sherman-Palladino left! Just for that, you have testicular cancer.

Instead I wisely said nothing.

Then my doctor decided to hit me with a touch of his peculiar medical jargon, utilizing interesting technical phrases that I didn't quite understand while simultaneously touching me in private, uncomfortable areas.

"I'm gonna need you to hunker down for me," doc said, poking me.

"I'm sorry, what?" I asked, not sure if I heard him correctly.

"Hunker down. You know, uuuurrrggghhh!" the doctor said, making a strained, teeth-gritting face and a grunting noise to indicate whatever it was he wanted me to do.

"This is awkward. I'm not sure I know what you want," I honestly replied.

"Tense up," he finally said, revealing his true intentions.

Hunker down? I don't even know what that means! Is that some new slang phrase that all the kids are using now? Does it even mean what he thinks it means? For all I know, I had a golden opportunity to sue somebody in that moment. It would have been a media circus in that court room as I described to the jury my doctor's peculiarly constipated face and his unique phraseology. "He told me to hunker down, Your Honor," I would say.

"Give this man ten million dollars," the judge would declare.

Just imagine the potential in the future. Oh, what a glorious day it will be when the doctor can start checking my prostate. Wait, did I say "glorious?" I meant "abysmal." I can't even talk about this business to my girlfriend because she has no sympathy for my plight. Apparently I need to just "suck it up" because women get metal prods stuck in their business all the time, and my fear of a finger exploring my colon is downright wussy when compared to all the medical horrors women go through.

Truthfully, I recognize that my fear of foreign objects going in or around my rear end is irrational. While my brother was in hospice care it seemed like he had a catheter in him nearly every other day, so having a doctor check out my Forbidden Zone once a year shouldn't even matter.

It still matters.

I have to say, getting a chest x-ray around here is insane. I had to wait an hour just to register to have the x-ray done. I was fortunate enough to not have to deal with a big line of people in the radiology area, but I was told that usually it's not unusual to wait ANOTHER hour. Going to the hospital for a simple test is like riding the newest roller coaster at your local theme park. You'll wait in annoyance for hours for something that's over in five minutes, and you'll leave the experience wondering what else you could have done with all that lost time.

Echo-Cardiograms, however, are totally worth it. They're actually kind of fun, in a goopy, alien-just-shot-out-of-your-chest kind of way. You get to monitor this screen and see a visual of your heart in action. You breathe in deep or shift around, you see the physical effects of your heart moving and pumping on a black and white horror-film screen. And when they turn the sound on, your heart-beat sounds exaggerated. The whole time the technician was playing around with that machinery, I kept expecting Sigourney Weaver to blow a door open and spurt fire everywhere while screaming at the top of her lungs.

Medicine is crazy, you guys. Just crazy.

Zeebo Out.