Mom and I arrived at the hospital just before 5pm on Friday afternoon and headed to the reception desk on the ground floor. The young woman on duty looked vaguely familiar (I think she may have been a couple of years ahead of me at high school), and we briefly shared “do I know you?” glances. Her nametag read “Vanessa”.

“Oh, yes,” she said as she opened one of the files from a tray while smiling at me. “Luke Williams. 18 years old. Tonsillectomy tomorrow morning with Doctor Walker. The hospital is almost full this week, but we managed to get you into one of the last beds. Unfortunately, the only availability was in a double room in the pediatrics unit; I’m really sorry about that. The good news, though, is that your roommate, Lisa O’Connor, is also 18 and in for a tonsillectomy. So, the two of you should have plenty to talk about! She just checked in about half an hour ago.”

The chirpiness of her voice couldn’t mask the grim reality of the news. In one sense, it wasn’t that strange to be relegated to the children’s ward, I rationalised, given that Doctor Walker was a pediatrician. And, in all fairness, I was anyway a bit nervous about the idea of being admitted as an adult. So, I took that part in stride. But the idea of having to share a room with a woman my age made me feel a bit uneasy. My apprehension would soon turn out to be justified.

Vanessa attached a plastic bracelet to my wrist then made a brief phone call. Soon a nurse in her mid-20s came out of the elevator to greet us. She was about my height, with short black hair and a pale face with a sprinkling of freckles on her upper cheeks. Her well-rounded bosom and hips made her quite alluring in a way. Her uniform was completely white, and the stethoscope slung around her neck completed the attractive tableau. Even though she was only a few years older than me, she struck me as very mature. I was immediately smitten.

“Hi Luke! I’m Amy,” she said brightly while shaking my hand. “Welcome to City General! I’ll be getting you settled in today.” She then turned to Mom. “You must be Mrs. Williams. We usually like to have a parent present for the intake, so why don’t you join us? The pediatrics unit is on the 3rd floor. We can head right up!”

Mom and I both followed her to the elevator, which took us up to floor 3. The sliding doors opened just in front of the main nurses’ station, and it was immediately evident that the hospital was indeed full, since there were doctors, nurses and parents milling about. Amy reassured us that it would quiet down in the next hour or so when visiting hours were over and the dinner service would start.

Just to the side of the nurses’ station was a small exam area enclosed with glass windows. I couldn’t help but think that it looked like fishbowl. In the middle was an exam table that appeared similar to the ones at Village Pediatrics – about 3 feet high and 6 feet long, with a flat, red cushion covering the top. Amy led us in there and casually but ominously pulled a sheet of white paper across the cushion before beckoning us to take seats on the two chairs in the room. After closing the door, she sat on a stool facing a work counter, flipped open what I presumed was my chart and picked up a pen to take notes.

“OK, let’s start with a few preliminaries,” she began. She proceeded to ask a series of questions about allergies, dietary restrictions, family medical history, medications and the like. As we were getting near the end, I noticed that she stiffened ever so slightly as she was reading. It could have been my imagination, but I thought I detected a slight blush on her cheeks when she turned to Mom.

“We usually take oral temperatures on older kids, but I see here that Dr Walker’s office made a note in Luke’s chart for rectal readings. Do you have a preference?”

Mom’s face showed a hint of amusement. “Well, he has had some difficulty holding an oral thermometer under his tongue,” she responded matter-of-factly, glancing briefly over at me as if to warn me not to say anything. “So, we have been taking it in his rectum for more accuracy.”

I was truly mortified. How could Mom divulge that so casually? It was one thing to have to get your temperature taken rectally for a valid medical reason, such as a sinus infection, for example. It was quite another for all the nurses (especially beautiful Amy!) to think that I was simply too immature to manage a thermometer in my mouth. I just looked at the floor in shame. Thankfully, Mom didn’t mention our little “game” of her laying me across her lap to take my temperature like a baby. But her comments were still deeply embarrassing. Worst of all, hearing the temperature-taking discussion caused the first stirrings of arousal.

Amy just smiled and made a note in the chart. “Oh, that happens sometimes with boys,” she said breezily. I could have sworn there was a slightly mocking tone. I’m not sure if she was talking to Mom or to me next, but she added what I suppose was meant to be a comforting comment: “Don’t worry; we can definitely accommodate rectal temperatures on this floor!”

The idea that she somehow knew that they would be “accommodating” taking my temperature in my bottom somehow added a layer of humiliation. But just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, it did.

“OK, Luke. I need to get your vitals and do a quick intake exam,” Amy announced. “So please strip completely for me and hop up onto the table. We’ll give you a gown and get you settled into your room right after that.” The stunned look on my face must have betrayed the unspoken question, because she felt it necessary to clarify her instruction. “Everything needs to come off, including your underpants.”

I had worn boxer shorts that day specifically to try to appear more grown-up when I arrived at the hospital. With this latest development, though, I realised that it was all for nothing, and I felt deflated and a bit aggrieved at being treated like a child. I slowly disrobed down to my undershorts, giving each article of clothing to Mom as it came off. Realising it was pointless to delay the inevitable, I finally slipped my shorts down and off, exposing my semi-erect penis to the gazes of the two women. I climbed up and sat on the edge of the table with my legs dangling down. In all honesty, I felt like a toddler, sitting naked on the waist-high exam table, visible not only to Amy and my mother, but also to the other nurses at the station on the other side of the windows, some of whom surreptitiously peeked as they went about their work.

Amy proceeded to take my pulse and blood pressure. She was very professional about it, but with her proximity I couldn’t help but recall having felt Jill’s and Debra’s breasts under my hand during my recent visits to Village Pediatrics. As a result, my erection grew more pronounced. Thankfully, Amy didn’t notice - or at least she pretended not to. She took a tongue depressor from a jar on the counter and looked down my throat. After that, she examined my ears with the otoscope before auscultating my chest and back. As she repeatedly brushed against me and was close enough that I could smell her perfume, my arousal intensified.

Then came the dreaded (and yet somehow titillating) words: “Now I just need to get your temperature, Luke.” She seemed to wink discreetly at Mom before turning back to me and adding: “Go ahead and lie down on your tummy for me.”

I resented the childish language she was using. But in a way, I was glad to lie down, since it meant hiding my penis. My heart began racing in anticipation of the upcoming procedure while I settled into a prone position on top of the exam table. I watched Amy with a mix of apprehension and excitement as she reached into one of the drawers below me and retrieved three objects. The first was a plastic cylindrical container about four inches tall and one inch in diameter, which she placed on the counter; it was all white except for a red band around the top and had the word “rectal” printed on the side. The second object was a flat plastic sleeve about the same length; it was also red and white and was marked “Temp-Away Rectal Thermometer Sheath”. Finally, she pulled out a glass thermometer with a short, stubby bulb. She turned to Mom and explained that, in order to minimize cross-contamination, each patient got their own personal thermometer for use during their stay at the hospital. She added cheerily that I would be able to take my thermometer home with me when I checked out, as if that were some kind of special bonus.

Amy proceeded to shake down the thermometer and verify the level of mercury. She then inserted it into one end of the Temp-Away sleeve and twisted it. When she removed the glass, there was a transparent plastic coating along the length of the instrument, with two red tabs at the top end of the stem. There appeared to be some form of lubrication on it. Mom looked on with interest as Amy used two fingers to separate my buttocks, exposing my anus to the cool air. After thoughtfully forewarning me that I would feel some pressure, she deftly inserted the sheathed rod. It didn’t feel quite as cold as a Vaseline-coated thermometer, but the sensation was otherwise the same as I felt it penetrate deep inside my rectum. I let out an involuntary sigh, and my (thankfully hidden) erection intensified even more. Amy took hold of the stem of the thermometer as it registered.

It must have been quite the sight: I was a grown man (physically, at least) lying stark naked on a children’s exam table inside a “fishbowl”, with a thermometer protruding from my bottom, held in place by a nurse. Mom and Amy stood on opposite sides of the exam table and chatted casually as if this were the most normal thing in the world. Most of the nurses at the station just outside seemed busy with other tasks, though they continued to glance in at me from time to time through the windows. My face must have been beet red from embarrassment. But at the same time, I found the experience weirdly exciting.

Finally, five minutes were up. Amy pulled the thermometer out of my rectum, peeled off and discarded the sheath and held up the glass to read the column of mercury.

“You’re running a slight temperature,” she said as she placed the thermometer into the cylinder and made a notation on my chart. “We’ll get you something for that later.”

She then opened another drawer and pulled out a hospital gown. I was finally allowed to get down, and Amy slipped the gown on me from the front (mercifully covering my erect penis) and tied it in the back. She then picked up the cylinder containing my thermometer and invited Mom and me to follow her down the hall to my room. I steeled myself to meet my new roommate.