“JUST MEASURE IT RECTALLY . . .”
Those are the words that I heard as I sat on the exam table. But first, how did I get there?
Well . . . I guess I picked up some germs or something, so is it allergies, a summer cold, or that respiratory something that’s going around? Not sure, but I have been feeling awful for the last couple of days and it wasn’t getting any better.
I decided to leave the house and head for the drug store to see if there was any OTC medicine that would top the DayQuil/NyQuil and the cough drops. On my way there, I decided to stop and have something to eat – maybe that would make me feel better. Yes, it did insofar as my energy level, but I still had the bodyaches, I was congested, and my throat was sore. The Diet Coke felt good going down and so did the cup full of ice. As I was sitting in the restaurant, I looked across the parking lot and saw a walk-in “Urgent Care” center. Why not? Stop screwing around and go in there to see if they can help.
I walked across the parking lot, soda-cup-with-ice in hand, and went into the place. Nobody there except a young man sitting at the walk-up window. I approached the window and noticed that h was dressed in scrubs and had a name tag on that said “Shawn Blake, CMA”.
He looked up at me and asked if he could help me. I told him why I was there and he looked over his shoulder and then looked up at a clock on the wall.
“We were kind of slow today so everybody took a lunch break. They’ll be back in about five minutes,” he said.
“OK – I’ll just come back later,” I answered.
“Well, it’s going to take a few minutes to do your paperwork and get you in the computer, why don’t you just do that and they’ll be back?” he suggested.
That seemed like a good idea, so I took the paperwork from him and gave him my ID and insurance card, and I took a seat to fill out the paperwork. Not too bad, I still had some soda and a full cup of ice to keep my sore throat under control.
As I was finishing the paperwork, a group of people came into the office. This was the staff – all female. So, they left the guy behind – girl’s lunch out! I looked up and saw Shawn standing at the counter talking to an older woman, also dressed in scrubs, and looking in my direction. I couldn’t hear what he was saying but I assumed that he was telling her about why I was here.
That lady then called out my name and I stood up and approached the window. I had finished with the paperwork, she returned my ID and insurance card, and I handed her the clipboard. The door to the side of the office opened and Shawn was standing there.
“Come with me and we’ll see what’s going on,” he said. I followed him back into the hallway with exam rooms on either side. We stopped at a scale and he checked my height and weight and then back a few more rooms to “Exam Room 5”.
“Have a seat on the edge of the exam table,” he said, as he turned toward the counter and reviewed what was on the clipboard. I was wondering what was going to happen. What was his role in all of this?
“CMA, what does that mean?” I asked.
“Certified Medical Assistant,” he answered. Then, he approached me, and he had a digital thermometer in his hand. “Open up – let’s get your temperature,” he said.
So, I opened my mouth, standard drill, and he placed the thermometer under my tongue. There I sat with the thermometer in my mouth, a young and handsome CMA before me, and . . .
. . . stupid me, the soda cup & ice still in my hands!
“You probably won’t be needing that for a while,” Shawn said, and he took the cup from me and placed it on the counter. Just then, the thermometer beeped and Shawn took it from my mouth. He looked at it, I heard him kind of groan, and he wrote down the reading on the clipboard. He came back to me and used the light to look into my eyes, nose, and ears – and then the standard open up and say “aahh” drill. Pulse and blood pressure and, as he moved about the room, I noticed that he must work out – and the benefits of youth, too – but he had no trouble filling out the scrubs. He approached me with the stethoscope –listened to my back and then listened to my chest. Modern medicine, I guess – I didn’t have to remove my shirt nor did he go underneath.
Almost as if on schedule, the door to Exam Room # 5 opened and in walked the doctor. Yes, in scrubs but the white coat and red lettering gave it away. She didn’t introduce herself, she just walked over to the counter, looked at the notes, and came over to me. The red lettering said “Patrice Bloom, M.D.” She took her hands and placed them on either side of my neck and felt around. She took the stethoscope from around her neck and did the same listen drill as Shawn. She walked over to the counter and got a tongue depressor from the drawer, so when she came back, I knew what to do. I did get a “Say Aahh” from her . . .
Walking back to the counter, she took a pad from her pocket and wrote on it – this was a prescription.
She put that on the counter and looked my way.
“There’s something going around, not sure what it is. Use the prescription and Shawn is going to give you a ‘sinus cocktail’ and you’ll be fine . . .” and she reached for the door knob.
Shawn interrupted her departure. “What about the temperature?” he asked.
“Oh – just take it rectally,” she answered, but I noticed that she made quotation marks with erh fingers when she said “rectally”. Did I just hear what I thought? I hadn’t even given this a moment’s thought and now I’ve heard a doctor tell a CMA to take my temperature “rectally”.
The doctor left the room and Shawn was working on something at the counter. When I could see what he was doing, I noticed that there were several vials on the counter and he had mixed up something in a syringe – quite a large syringe with a long needle on it! As he was approaching me, he told me that this “sinus cocktail” was a combination of drugs to provide relief from my symptoms and some vitamins and antibiotics to chase the germs away. So, they give it in a large muscle which is usually the buttocks. He told me to stand and bend over the exam table and lower my jeans a little bit.
A shot in the butt. I hadn’t expected this nor had I had this fantasy. But, I did as I was told and there I stood, bent over the exam table and my jeans were just below my buttocks, held in place by my spread legs. Shawn lowered the left side of my panties to expose the top of my butt (I wasn’t “exposed” in any way) and I felt him cleansing the area with alcohol. He applied pressure with his hand and I felt him spread his fingers, I guess to tighten the area?
“OK, this is going to hurt a little bit,” he said. “Take a deep breath and slowly exhale through your mouth,” he told me.
I took a deep breath and, as I began to exhale, I felt the needle puncture my skin. Wow! It did hurt! And then I felt a burning and a pressure for a while and then it stopped. I felt the coolness of the alcohol swab.
“All finished,” Shawn said.
Now, I was waiting for the next line so I stayed in place, bent over the exam table with my jeans down that have fallen to my knees.
“It’s OK, we’re finished,” Shawn said.
“Oh, I thought the doctor said something about taking my temperature again,” I replied (not wanting to use the word rectal in my answer.
“Oh, yeah. I forgot,” he answered and, my still being bent over the exam table but looking over my shoulder, I saw him writing something on the chart. He took the thermometer in his hand and approached me. I was waiting for the words . . .
I was anxious, I was nervous, maybe I was even getting a bit aroused. Here I am bent over the exam table with my jeans at my knees and “rectal temperature” being the current topic of interest. He stood next to me and showed me the thermometer so I could see the digital read-out.
“You see, it reads 36.6 degrees?” he said, looking for my affirmation.
“Yes – I have no idea what that means.” I replied.
“It means that your oral temperature is low, so it needs to be measured rectally,” and he emphasized the word “rectally” and he put a finger in the top of my panties and made the elastic waistband snap against me.
I guess I was trying to drag it on, postpone the inevitable, or maximize the fantasy or fantasies, I still lay there and said, “Yeah, but 36.6 . . . like, isn’t it supposed to be 90 something?”
Now Shawn was behind me and he replied, “98.6 in Fahrenheit – that’s what you’re thinking about . . .”
Shawn approached me again, this time he slipped a finger in the waistband of my panties and tugged it down a little bit while showing me the thermometer. “You’re 36.6 Centigrade. . .” then, he pushed a button and the number changed, “. . . that’s 97.9 Fahrenheit --- questionably low if you’re not feeling well.”
Shawn walked back to the counter and then picked up where he left off, “but you were drinking something cold . . . so, we use rectal . . .”
I thought I knew what was coming next, Shawn approaching me with a lubricated thermometer to take my rectal temperature, so I reached behind me and lowered my panties to my knees. Just then, the door to the Exam Room opened and in walked the doctor.
I was kind of in a vulnerable and exposed position, bent over the exam table with my panties and jeans lowered to my knees. The doctor and Shawn started talking about something unrelated while I lay there and then the doctor asked Shawn, “You’re finished here, aren’t you?” and then they both looked over at me – exposed as I was.
The doctor walked out of the room and Shawn said to me, “We’re finished, you can get up now.”
“I thought . . . I thought . . . weren’t you . . . ,” I stammered.
“Is there something wrong?” Shawn asked.
“You said you were going to take my temperature rectally . . . so I sort of got prepared?” I replied, now really feeling weird.
“I said we were going to use a rectal measurement. That means that we add one degree to the reading that we get,” he explained. “Unless you like a thermometer in your butt!” He chuckled but quickly followed with, “Get your pants up and get out of here,” and he walked over to me and lightly smacked me on the butt!
Mortified. I stood up and pulled up my panties and jeans. I left the Exam Room and headed back down the hallway. I’ve never felt so embarrassed in my life. When I got to the end of the hallway, Shawn was standing there with some papers in his hand.
“Here’s a prescription and some information about the “sinus cocktail” that we gave you. You should be feeling much better by tomorrow,” he told me.
I thanked him, trying not to make too much eye contact because I was so embarrassed.
As I was paying my co-pay, Shawn came up to me and spoke quietly into my ear, “You’re not the first person to drop their pants for rectal temperature . . .” And then, he chuckled a bit, gave my arm a friendly squeeze, and walked back down the hall.