Slick and sore are what I remember most.

I live near a big city where I grew up. My doctor was just down the street and if I was slightly or moderately sick, my mom would walk me down to his office. His office was once an apartment in a building and we would wait in what was the living room. You could tell the exam room used to be the kitchen and his office the bedroom. I remember waiting patiently with my anxiety building (knowing something was going to happen to me "back there"), since that is what usually happened to a kid in the early 1960's. Once I heard the nurse call my name the anxiety was at a fever pitch (to match my fever). We followed her into the exam room and my mom would tell the nurse what was wrong at which time she would say," Ok dear, take off your clothes, leave on your socks, t-shirt and underwear". There was no privacy as I undressed, my mom and the nurse discussing my symptoms and watching my progress, helping me up on the scale and table as the nurse got my vitals, my heart was racing as she checked my pulse. The nurse would try and reassure me, "it will be ok, just relax" was what she usually said. As she walked over to the cabinets, I knew what was next, her next words would be "Ok dear, roll over on your belly" as she was clanking and shuffling the contents of the cabinet getting the thermometer ready. I would be lying there and watching her shake the thermometer and dip it into the jar of vaseline. The butterflies were were intensifying as she walked back behind me, I then felt my t-shirt lifted up to expose the waistband of my underwear which she slipped her fingers under, pulling them down to my thighs. I felt the cold office air on my exposed feverish rear as she slipped the thermometer in. "Hold still like a good boy" she would say as she looked at her watch. The thermometer and vaseline felt cool when it was first inserted which began the longest 3-5 minutes I could remember. It seemed like hours as lie there, cold, exposed and unable to move. in that time there would be more consulting with my mom, and periodic glances at her watch. finally she would turn to me, pulling out the thermometer. She would announce the temp to my mom and write it down in my records. I finally felt her fingers pull my underwear up as she would reassure me, "All done dear, just relax now. The dr. will be in to see you in a few minutes". Great. More waiting. By this time my mom would be engulfed in some outdated magazine while I made my way back on my back since I was so scared to be on my belly longer than I needed to. I was afraid to lay like that for most of my childhood, it usually meant I wound up getting some painful or unpleasant (at the time) procedure performed back there. The Dr. would finally arrive, performing the usual exam with his cold hands and stethoscope. He would then tell my mom what was wrong and explain the treatment and left the room. Back to the waiting game until the door opened and the nurse stepped in. I hoped beyond hope that she would only instruct me to get dressed and for us to see the Dr. in his office. More often than not my heart would sink as she approached the cabinets and the clanking and shuffling sounds resumed. I'd be lying there as scared as ever as I watched her get a small vial and syringe out. She would fill the syringe, glance over at me and say,"Ok dear, I need you back on your belly again" I would resign myself to my fate as I turned over with my mom trying to reassure me it won't hurt much. By the time the nurse came up behind me again I was on the verge of tears as she lifted my shirt and pulled down my underwear. Again the feeling of cold and even more cold as she rubbed my rear with alcohol. "Just relax dear, this will only hurt a little" is what she usually said a second before I would feel the pain of the needle burning my rear end as she injected me with the medication. The seconds turned back into hours as the medication was injected in me and the pain intensified. I would feel thepulling of the needle as she withdrew it from my rear end and the sting of the alcohol as she rubbed the site once more, then pull my underwear back up. At that point she would proclaim,"Ok dear you're done. You can get dressed now". I could feel the sore muscle back there as I got up to get dressed feeling it every time I moved. She then walked us to the Dr.s office wishing my mom and I well as she closed the door behind her. I remeber sitting down and feeling the pain of the needle I just got as my mom and the dr. discussed follow up and his handing her a prescription. Sitting there also caused the vaseline to melt and spread in my crack. We would get up to leave and I could feel the slickness of the vaseline and the sore from the needle as I walked home and every time I sat or walked for the rest of the day. I would love to feel those sensations again and find a "nurse" that would help me recreate them.

Love the story/ hope ya able ta share more about ya doctor visits. if want to chat let me know'

Very true to what I remember as a child growing up 20 years later in the 80s. We would arrive at the waiting room, and I would immediately feel my face blush a little, as I was sure everyone there knew that I would be having something done in my bottom. After all, all kids got their temps taken in their bottom, as far as I knew, and I didn't seem to care as much that the other kids would be getting it, just that they all knew I would be.

Then, I was taken back to a small room with my mom, and instructed to get undressed to my underwear. It almost seemed silly to keep the underwear on, as they would be getting pulled down almost immediately when the nurse came in, and again at the end of the visit for the grand finale. The nurse would pop in and ask my mom a series of questions, including my temperature, and when and how it was last taken, which was of course answered "in the bottom". Then she would take my pulse and blood pressure, followed by the familiar "on your tummy so we can take your temperature". "Lift up for me....there we go" and my briefs would be down at my knees. Then she would turn and get the thermometer from a big jar, shake it down, and squeeze something from a tube on the tip, all while I was laying there bare butt at the ready. Then she would spread open my cheeks and slip the thermometer in, usually telling me "that's a good boy" and "just lay still for me". The thermometer would be very cold at first and uncomfortable, but then it would warm up and just feel "funny", with the weirdest feeling when it was pulled out. The nurse would wipe it and read it, and then tell me I could pull my undies up, and the doctor would be right in. At home, mom would always wipe me, but at the doctor's you were left with a slimy bottom.

After the exam, there was never a question, as I always got some kind of shot, whether a booster or penicillin. My mom would make me pull my underwear down so I would be ready when the nurse came in, which was very embarrassing for me, but the nurses always appreciated it. The cold alcohol would be swabbed on my bottom, then I would feel the pinch. I always cried up until age 8, when I started taking them better. Then I would be told how brave I was, etc., and be told I could get dressed. Once dressed I would walk out with a slimy, stinging bottom.

Very similar experiences growing up.

Nice story

My rectal temperature days were never slick and sore. When my mom did the insertion of the cold thermometer, it felt soothing while waiting for the reading.

I don't remember any rectal temp. experiences outside of my home, when I was really young, since it stopped at around age 5 or 6. I remember having a sore ass for hours afterward, and I needed several kitchen napkins to clean off the gobs of Vaseline. I had a passionate hatred for rectal temps. back then.

I think that they all went to the same school regarding how to deal with us. Except for one exam, my exams involved being seen in my briefs regardless if for a physical or sick visit. I had four different doctors til I left for college. All visits did require lowering or having my briefs come off at a certain point. Only one doctor had me strip naked from the start. He was used to seeing adults and was providing temporary coverage while our doc was on leave. I remember feeling so scared when the nurse took me into the exam while my mother sat on a chair along the wall just outside the exam room with the door left partially open. The nurse sent me to a changing area behind the curtain and told me to strip. I left on my briefs thinking I had clearly misheard everything. I was quickly reminded to take off my briefs before even reaching the table and sent immediately to the scale for my weight check and then to the table. My attempt to reach for my briefs failed as I was told to lay on my side and given a RT. I doubt the thermometer was longer than others from the past but I sure felt that it was and more self conscious, now 14, and having this done. The doc then walked in and did his exam, actually rather fast, with minimal exam of genitals. That was a relief and called mom in to review things. The nurse by then had a booster ready and had me lean over onto the table. My initial protest was met with the sting of the needle and a loud whimper. My penis seemed to shrink to extra small as I went to dress and then leave. Back then, I tried hard to hide any tears but the look of distress was evident to all that saw me walk by.