Fargo Devons and I made a deal recently. A good deal. A deal for our health. We were watching a few health documentaries for the hell of it with a few other buddies. And I made the joke to Fargo that he couldn’t sit still during a colonoscopy; he would not let that shit happen. So he proposed said deal: we both go to the hospital, and Fargo would get a colonoscopy if I would get a cystoscopy. I didn’t know what the eff that was at first, but as it turns out, it’s basically a colonoscopy for the bladder.

So we shook on that deal to seal it. And we made appointments at the hospital to set it in stone. And today, after Fargo takes his two bottles of fleet enema, we head up to get everything checked. We had our friend -- our rock, really -- Benedict Crawford to keep us in check if we needed it.

Fargo and I were together when Hal Blythe took our vitals. You know, temperature, blood pressure, pulse, our height and weight, listening to our heart and lungs. Once all that was taken care of, Hal took Fargo to where his colonoscopy would be done, and Ricky Tracey took me to my exam room.

Everything seems alright at first. Ricky hands me a cup and tells me to pee in it. “Just for a brief urine test; making sure everything's healthy. And to make sure your bladder’s empty,” he explains.

I do. I pee into the cup, just enough to get Ricky a sample. Makes sense that he would need to do a pee test and all. Then I empty the rest of my bladder into the toilet, knowing that Ricky’s gonna need my empty bladder.

When I come out, Ricky asks me to take off my clothes, put on an exam gown, and sit up on the exam table. I do, knowing that's part of the exam and nothing to worry about.

“‘Kay, brutha,” Ricky says, pulling on a pair of white latex gloves. “Just gonna have you pull yourself to the end of the table and sit with your knees open.”

I do, I pull my butt forward and place my knees apart. Ricky lifts up the bottom of my gown and uses a cotton ball with iodine on it to clean off the head of my penis, to keep things from getting infected.

“Alright, Allen. I’m going to give you some medicine. It’s just a local anesthetic to make sure it won’t be painful when the scope goes into your urethra,” he explains. Off of the cart next to the table, Ricky picks up a syringe full of a clear liquid. But there's no needle in it.

“Where does it go?” I ask, thinking it goes into my arm, maybe my inner thigh or something.

Ricky flicks the air to the top of the liquid. “Just into your urethra,” he says. “It’ll sting a little bit, but you won't be able to feel much.”

Now I feel myself starting to get squirmy. Ricky attempts to spread my urethra open, but I am not at all ready for that shit. I doubt I can handle the sting, and if I can’t handle that, I won’t be able to handle the scope. That shit’s gonna exert some pressure.

Right as Ricky touches me, I stand up slightly, legs still apart. “Dude, dude, dude!” I cry out. “I’m not ready, I’m not ready, I don’t want it to hurt.”

Ricky raises an eyebrow. “Sure you are, dude,” he reassures him. “It's not gonna hurt. It’s just a little bit of medicine; just relax. It’ll be over with quick, you won’t even know it’s being done. Just a quick sting.”

I know I won’t be able to relax. As soon as Ricky goes back to try to give me the medicine, I stand up quickly and try to cross my legs, though, it just looks pathetic because my balls keep getting in the way. I feel like a weakling all over again, like I’m ten years old or some shit. Damn, Fargo’s probably already sleeping by now, tubes up his butt without him even knowing, and here I am, having trouble just taking the medicine they need to start the procedure. I start sweating and my breathing picks up, and I feel my muscles tighten. “No, dude, no! I can’t do this, man, I can’t do it!” I cry. “I don't want it to hurt, I can't stand the pain, I can’t do this!”

Ricky tries to sit me back down on the table so he can start to calm me down. “Allen, my man, my brutha, you’re overthinking it,” he tries to tell me. “It isn’t going to hurt or be painful if you are relaxed. If you're having trouble relaxing now, you will have trouble relaxing when I do your urethral dilation and I start with the scope, dude.”

That’s enough to make me totally flip my lid. “Urethral dilation?!” I nearly shriek. “Oh no, man, no! That ain’t going down! That's really goddamn terrifying!” I try to stand up and go put my clothes back on, but Ricky keeps a block on me, wrapping his arm around my thigh so I won’t be able to leave.

Somehow, my yelling attracts the attention of a few doctors outside. There’s Brandon Blue, Shaw Zedler, and Paxton Draft. Amongst them is Ben, probably just in case something’s up.

“Hey, Allen alright in here?” Shaw asks, sounding slightly concerned.

Ricky looks over his shoulder, never releasing his grip on my leg. “He's having some trouble... He’s scared,” he explains. “He’s rethinking everything. Doesn’t want me to give him the medicine, he’s not liking the sound of a urethral dilation.”

Brandon makes contact with my horrified eyes. “Dude, it’ll be alright,” he says softly. “You just have to relax. It'll be the easiest thing you've ever been through if you just take some deep breaths and don't think about it. It's just a little bit of medicine, dude. Just like getting a shot. I know you can handle getting a shot, man. You get plenty of shots, don’t you?”

I shake my head. “Nah, nah. I know I can't do this,” I panic. “I straight up don't have what it takes. I can't deal with this kind of pain. I can't do it.”

Paxton shakes his head gently. “You do, and you can; you’re just thinking too much, chap,” he tries to tell me. “Thinking too much makes it hurt, so does being tense. Just relax, think about something else. Don’t even look at it, if it helps.”

I feel tears come to my eyes, and I kind of want to die, especially as my heavy breathing becomes audible.

Ben comes up from behind Ricky, a concerned look in his eyes. “Allen, if you forfeit the test, Devons wins. It won’t be even. The only way it would be is if you both get the tests done,” he reminds me. “You wouldn’t want to lose to him, now, would you? It's not like you’re not going to make it out alive, kid. It’s just a little uncomfortable, maybe slightly embarrassing. Like B said, man, it’s just the medicine. They’d never go ahead and just dilate you and start scoping without giving you medicine first.”

I aggravatedly knuckle my eyes. “Don’t... Care...” I growl.

Ben sighs. “Now, that’s just not like you, Allen.” He looks down at Ricky. “What do I do to help him sit still?”

Ricky nods in the direction of the counter. “Glove up,” he instructs.

Ben and Paxton both go over to the counter, and they put on the same latex gloves that Ricky’s wearing.

“Good,” he says. “Ben, I’m gonna need you to push down and out on his knees. Keep them nice and spread open. Don't let him close them; it won’t be a good day for anyone if he closes them. Hold underneath his knees with your arms if it makes things easier.”

Ben does just that. Even if I try to kick away from him, something I’m trained to do very well, Ben’s faster. He pushes my knees wide open so I have spread legs, and wraps his arms under my knees, making sure they’re trapped in good. I growl out and try with all I’ve got to fight out of his grip, but it’s no use.

Paxton comes over as well, and buries his fingers deep into my auburn roots, and places my head against his shoulder in a way that obstructs my vision from what Ricky is doing. I try to shake my hair so he loses his grip, but Pax is holding on good. “Just ignore it, Allen,” he says gently. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

“Thank you,” Ricky says. And just then, I feel him rewetting the head of my penis with iodine, then spreading my urethra open. Next thing I know, I feel a terrible pressure in my urethra, followed by a sharp sting, then a burning sensation. It bothers my urethral lining, my prostate, my bladder. It sucks.

I cry out in shock against Paxton’s shoulders, tensing my thighs and trying one last time to break free. But Ben and Paxton aren’t letting that happen. Ben hugs both my legs tightly, and Paxton just scratches my scalp to calm me down. Ricky starts to massage my penis, in a way that moves the liquid down throughout my urethra. It’s tingling. It’s tingling and I hate it. It even starts affecting my balls somehow. They’re just these limp sacs between my thighs now.

I feel myself becoming angry as I begin crying. Actually crying. Tears running from my eyes and sobs coming out. Crying. Paxton adds in some back rubbing when he figures out that I’m crying. “I know, it’s rough,” he whispers. “Just try to relax.”

Ricky pulls his surgical mask over his mouth and nose, taking out another tool. It sounds like it’s made of metal, but Paxton won’t let me look. “Allen. Do me a favor, buddy. Talk to me about the last match you were in. Say anything to me.”

I catch my breath, sucking back the saliva that’s gathered in my mouth. “It was against Jesus Ramirez,” I tell him, voice cracked and clearly damp. “I won. Ramirez made it seem like he was gonna win... And I came in with a good-ass comeback. That was epic.” My breathing catches as the feeling of my penis being a thing attached to my body just ceases to exist.

“Yeah?” Ricky keeps the conversation going. “How’d you finish him off?”

I sniffle, trying to ignore my nose running and dripping onto my exam gown. “A 450 Splash,” I say. “The first one I tried didn’t work... Ramirez could save himself. Second time was a victory. Man, was Ramirez pissed when that happened.”

Ricky chuckles, patting my inner thigh. “You going to the final round now?” he asks.

“Mmhm,” I answer. “Pumped for that.”

All at once, out of nowhere, I feel something cold, and definitely, one-hundred percent made of metal protrude the lips of my urethra. And I howl out, and I fight, and I squirm as much as I can, upper body, legs, everything. No way is that going in my dick, whatever the hell it is. I won’t let it happen.

“Allen, bro, Allen, Allen. Work with me here, buddy,” Ricky tells me gently. “I don’t want to scratch you with this. The last thing I want is to hurt you, and it actually will end up hurting pretty bad if I scratch your urethra. The better you work with me, the less it’s going to hurt for you.”

Shaw paces over and attempts to lightly pat me on the shoulder. “Allen, you already have the medicine,” he says gently. “It’s numbed your urethra, the worst you’re going to feel is some pressure.”

I sob out loudly, finally able to shake my hair from Paxton’s grip as I throw my head back and cry out in pain. “No pressure!” I scream. “I don’t want pressure! I don’t want it to hurt, I don’t want pain, I want to be left alone!! I can’t do this! I can’t do it!!”

Brandon shakes his head. “Aw, man, I’m afraid for his pulse,” he says to the others. “Check his pulse. For the love of God, check his pulse.”

Shaw grabs the back of my head, and jams two fingers into my carotid pulse. He’s able to keep it strong and in place, even while I fight to get away from both him and Ben. But the two of them work together, Ben pulling my legs towards his torso, and Shaw pulling my hair downwards. Finally, Shaw lets me go, and he looks to Brandon. “We’re gonna have to keep him under close monitoring,” he says. “He’s doing a lot of hyperventilating and his heart is racing. If it gets worse, we’ll have to check him with a stethoscope... Bad enough, and it’ll be a Doppler. Depends on how hard and out of control he’s breathing.”

“Allen,” Brandon says. “Allen, come here, bro.” He joins me at the table, and he wipes the tears from my face, holding my jaw gently in his hands. “It’s going to be okay. Understand me?”

I try to fight Brandon off too, wildly shaking my head, and trying once again to give Ben a good kick in the jaw.

Brandon grabs my face good, and looks right into my eyes. “Hey. Allen, listen to me a minute, man. Listen,” he says firmly, motioning to his ear so that I understand completely what he wants me to do. “You need to breathe. Breathe. Deep breaths. You’ve gotta take deep breaths, man. You’re in hysterics. You don’t need to be in hysterics, because Trace isn’t going to hurt you. He could end up hurting you, though, if you don’t sit still. That’s why it’s important that Ben holds you down if you’re going to squirm.”

I blink once, tears running down my cheeks.

“Listen to my words, Allen. We’re gonna take some deep breaths, okay? Take a slow deep breath in through your nose. Fill up your chest. Go on, bro.”

I do. I breathe in through my nose, shakily, but I do it.

“Good. Now let it out heavy through your mouth,” he then says.

And I do that too. I let out a long, heavy breath through my mouth.

“Very good. You’re going to do me a favor and just keep breathing like that for me, m’kay?” Brandon says.

I just nod.

“Right. Deep breath in.”

I breathe in.

“Good. Deep breath out.”

I let that breath out. And I keep listening to Brandon’s instructions, just as he asked me to. I take deep breaths, and surprisingly, it works. I feel myself becoming less likely to break someone’s nose. I’m still inexplicably scared, but my heart’s no longer racing in my chest and causing me to panic.

Brandon briefly looks over his shoulder at Ricky before he turns back to me. “Alright. I want you to breathe in now, and on the way out, give me a nice gentle ‘ahh.’ A nice sigh, like you had an ice cold drink of beer. Can you do that for me?”

I try. I breathe in through my nose, nice and slow. All the way in. As I go to breathe out, I feel that metal again, and it slides into my urethra easily. It's not sore, but it feels like it should be. There’s such a bothersome pressure inside of me now, and it’s so uncomfortable. That breath out that Brandon wanted me to do comes out more like an “A-a-ahh!!”

“I know, dude, I know,” Ricky mutters softly, in a very soothing and calm voice, trying to get me to focus on it. “I know. It’s not fair, I know this is so mean of me. I’m a dick to do this to you, bro. It’s just not fair.”

Paxton grabs my hand and squeezes it, and Brandon keeps my head still so I won’t try to lash out, and potentially hurt myself. “Hey, I know it’s tough. But you did it. It’s over now. That was the worst part, and you made it through,” Brandon reassures me. “Just try to relax now, Allen. Relax, relax, relax.”

Ben gives my legs a squeeze to get my attention. “Hey. Relax your thighs, kid,” he says. “They’re really tense — that’s gotta be uncomfortable.”

I try to take the tensity away from my thighs, but as soon as I do, I feel as though I’m not in control anymore. I tense right back up. Then I do something I regret doing as soon as I do it: while my head is still in Brandon’s grasp, I open my eyes, and avert my eyes downwards, in the direction of my penis. I scream at the top of my lungs once I figure out what’s going on down there. There’s a metal rod inside my penis, almost all the way in, and it’s gotta be the size of at least a No. 2 pencil. It’s huge! And it’s in my dick!

Shaw immediately grabs my hair again and pulls my head back, covering my eyes with a hand. “Don’t look at it, Allen. That’ll just make it more uncomfortable,” he says gently.

I feel my breath turn to hyperventilation all over again as I keep on screaming. “Get it out!!” I cry out. “Take it out of me!! I quit, I can’t do it!! I can't do it anymore!! Leave me alone!! Leave me alone!! Take it out!!”

I mean, with being a fighter and all, I’ve got a pretty loud voice, like I’ve been trained. It attracts more of the doctors just walking in the hall, some of which I don’t even know. They’re all probably worried about what all the screaming is, and they’re shocked to find a pro wrestler up on the table. Christ on a cracker, this is embarrassing as Hell.

“Alright, Allen, alright,” Paxton says soothingly to me before looking to the others. “Lithotomy him. Quick.”

I have no idea what that means, but I don’t think I like it. I sob heavily as Paxton and Shaw help me lie down on my back, and Brandon pulls up stirrups from underneath the bed. “‘Kay, Ben, can you put his legs up in those?” he asks.

Ben nods. Struggling slightly under the weight of my deadweight, trembling legs, he slowly places my calves into the stirrups, and lets go. This isn’t the most attractive I’ve ever felt, lying here on the table like this. In fact, I’d say I had more dignity when I accidentally ripped a nice hole in the seat of my pants during a live event, so everyone ever could see my crack. My legs are just wide open for the world to see my goods, and my anus even spreads its lips a little. But the discomfort in my urethra caused by that metal rod is finally gone. This is a much better position to be in.

“Ah, see? I knew that’d help you feel better,” Paxton says gently, stroking my forehead and brushing the bangs out of my face. “Does that feel better, Allen?”

I sniffle. “Uh huh,” I answer, knowing my voice is still going to be wet.

Shaw uses a tissue to dab away some of my tears. “Glad we could relieve some of that pressure,” he says, pinching my nose with the tissue and letting me blow. “Just relax now, okay? It’ll be all over soon.”

Brandon tapes a gauze pad over my anus, just to keep it protected and give me some of my privacy back. To me, it’s almost like he’s telling me, You’ve been through a lot. I’m not even going near this private area. And I trust him.

He then looks back up to me. “You want something to drink, Allen? Maybe an ice pop or something?” he offers. “I’m sure your throat’s probably scratched up from all that screaming you just did.”

I nod. “That’d be good. Thanks,” I say.

Brandon smiles with a nod, and heads out to get me one of those, and directs the other doctors out while he leaves, explaining why they heard me screaming like I was. Meanwhile, Ricky grins behind the mask over his mouth as well. “What a champ,” he says. “So tough.”

The others do whatever they can to keep me calm and still until Brandon comes back, namely petting my hair and talking to me like normal. Then I get my lemonade-flavored ice pop from Brandon, as well as a can of orange Sunkist, complete with a straw. While I suck on the ice pop and have a few sips of the orange soda I was given, Shaw and Brandon work to pull my gown up until just above my belly button, and cover up my legs and create a drape around my private region with a couple of light blue drapes made from medical paper. But they don't do anything else without telling me, not while I'm eating. But seriously, hell yes. The sweet flavor of the ice pop takes my mind off of everything, and its coolness does soothe my throat. It all feels better right now.

Once I’ve finished eating, and I drink all that I want, Shaw goes ahead and shuts off the lights, and Paxton turns on the one overhead, as well as the smaller one beside the bed, which he then positions between my legs.

“Okay, Allen. Just relax for me again,” Ricky says.

It’s easier to relax now, though, I can’t help but gasp sharply when I feel that metal rod sliding back out. Ben, who’s taken to sitting beside the bed, strokes my forehead. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be fine,” he reassures me.

Thankfully, it’s out rather quickly, and Ricky pats my knee. “That’s it, there you go. That’s our boy,” he praises me.

With that out of the way, I look up slightly as I watch Ricky pace over to the opposite side of the bed that Ben is sitting on, and Brandon preparing an anesthetic mask. Ricky thanks Brandon for the mask, then looks down at me. “‘Kay, Allen. This might be a little scary, but it’ll definitely make everything a little easier for you to get through. It's going to help you relax,” he says. “Ready?”

I nod. “Ready.”

Ricky nods to Brandon, then places the mask over my mouth and nose. “Breathe it in,” he tells me. “Breathe... Good boy.”

I do, and as I breathe in the gas, I become a bit loopy, very lightheaded. I chuckle underneath the mask, finding something rather funny. Even I’m confused about what I’m laughing at. Ben, still beside me, chuckles as well, giving my forehead another gentle pat. “What’s so funny, Allen?” he asks.

I don't exactly have an answer for that, so I find myself laughing a little harder, finding myself becoming sort of sleepy. “The room’s spinning,” I finally slur.

Ricky laughs. “He’s hanging on pretty good here,” he says.

Without even knowing at first, I just sort of put my head down, and pass the hell out. I’m pretty damn sleepy.