Wednesday, September 10th, 2014. Day 8 Hamilton.

Life, if you are paying attention, will provide you with a continuing stream of opportunities to learn. For instance, today I learned that I can't keep a straight face while someone draws on my gootch with a sharpie. 

Today began, saw noon, and saw me treated without anything that I would now describe as being eventful. Then, post zaps, Deb wheeled me off to the mould room for some measurements pertaining to a region of the anatomy that is difficult to expose during normal, standing treatment. A bit between my legs. The perineum is the bit between your genitals and your anus. You may have also heard it referred to as the taint, grundle, or gootch (as mentioned above), and I'm sure a quick googling would turn up scores more interesting euphemisms, which, while highly amusing, would not advance the story in any significant way.

Let me begin by saying that I don't really get the medical fascination with having you step into a change room to get naked, if you're immediately going to flap about in front of the technicians and physicians, but customs are customs, I suppose. I used the proferred change room, but only to remove part of my clothing, returning dressed in what must be the least flattering outfit that a man can possibly assemble: naught but t-shirt and socks (or in this case, little blue booties). Nothing accentuates all that is silly about male physiology like that particular combination of wearable, blended fabrics (which are technically an affront to the Lord, if you're keeping score). I was motioned to lay down on a gurney, with my bottom hanging just off the edge of a supportive wedge, and then handed a rolled pillow case with which to hoist my testes and keep them out of the way. Then, for dignity, they draped another pillow case over that whole shmozzle. Dignity. Wink. Kids, if dignity is protecting your nakedness and sphinctery bits, I lost that battle long ago. Dignity is not not-being-naked. Dignity is how you act when you are naked. Shall we press on?

They had me assume the birthing position, which the ladies in the room may need to explain to the men (today, I acquired much gynaecological sympathy) and then they crowded around to poke, prod, assess, and otherwise eye up the now prominent, but usually reclusive, region of my body. There were five techs in the room, plus Deb. Then halfway through Dr. Sussman joined in, so, y'know, it was a cozy showing. 

Okay, for the fellas, the birthing position has you on your back, hips propped up slightly, and knees splayed wide, so that a really in-depth view of your no-no places is available to all. 

Areas were marked, knees and feet adjusted, photographs taken (for posterity, one can only assume), and then a sheet of plastic was mooshed against the general downstairs region and further markings were made against it. It's worth mentioning that we carried on amused conversation throughout. The point of all of this was for props, calculations, and positioning that will be used at least tomorrow for treatment, and likely a few other times, as well.

I once had a friend who travelled from zoo to zoo, circumcising elephants. The pay was lousy, but the tips were enormous.