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In July 2000, I underwent a dreaded hemorrhoidectomy, and it seemed like quite a few extra people got to look at my uncovered keister.
On my previous six surgeries which included an inguinal hernia repair, I was able to preserve a bit of modesty, but not with the hemorrhoidectomy. During my three-day hospital stay after the hemorrhoidectomy, it seemed like an inordinate number of people came in to check my stitches and their progress in the healing process.
It seemed like the people did not care about my modesty and I gained an appreciation for my wife and how, when she gave birth to our four children, no one cared about her modesty and it seemed like every five minutes someone from the hospital staff was lifting up the blankets to see how many centimeters she was dilated so they could to track how she was progressing toward birthing each child.
It was pretty much the same for me, well except unlike my wife's situation I had drugs to deaden the pain, and I didn't have a baby's head trying push its way out of my anus, and the people didn't stick their hand inside my rectum to measure how many centimeters I was dilated, and besides, I wasn't dilating anyway, so I guess it was only similar to my wife have a baby in that some people looked at my privates.
So, on the first day, by the time the tenth person dropped by and even brought a student to observe, all my modesty went out the window and I no longer cared who saw my stitched-up tush.
Mine must have been an interesting case because more students were paraded past my posterior during the next 48 hours, and a few people seemed like they just tagged along for the show. I'm quite certain that by the end of my hospital stay, the observers included four candy stripers, three cafeteria cashiers, two gift-shop workers, and a partridge in a pear tree. Everybody wanted to see my behind because they must have wanted to get a little behind in their work.
What can I say? I must have an extremely handsome hiney, a beautiful behind, a ridiculous rump, a picturesque posterior, or a delightful derriere, that so many people had to make their way past the end of my bed to have a peak under the covers. If I had a nickel for every person who inspected my bum hole, I'd be rich.
Well, I would have at least $1.05.
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