Doctor Funny
Published in

Doctor Funny


Look Out, Boys!

Warning — this’ll make you squirm in your Y-fronts

Male nurse dressed in superhero cape and mask
Off to battle the forces of evil! Image by Klaus Nielsen from Pexels

This is an embarrassing medical moment that didn’t happen to me, (coz I’m a sheila), but it did happen to my husband, Dee.

In the interests of full disclosure, and believe me, he was fully disclosed, I asked Dee if I could write about his misadventures.

He said, “Sure, but don’t bloody think you can interview me about it. I never want to revisit that time!”

So, I figured I had carte blanche permission to write whatever I wanted because he sure as hell ain’t gonna read this! (Because he never reads anything I write, EVA).

You think he would read something now and again, wouldn’t you? To be truthful, I’m a bit offended by his goddamn lack of interest.

Hmm, revenge is best served right about now.

“Dee, can you come here for a few minutes? I just have a few questions about those events — yeah — those ones!”

Oh, that was fun — he’s still rocking gently in his comfy chair, murmuring whilst lovingly cradling his man bits!

Guys, hold on to your family jewels — this’ll make your eyes water!

When Dee and I retired, he was having a tough time with prostate issues. Fortunately, we were living on Australia’s Gold Coast and had access to very good medical facilities.

Many of you older blokes will understand how inconvenient prostate issues can be, not the worst of which is the frequent need to piss.

We were planning a move to the country on retirement, and had been going back and forward to our proposed new area, to sort things out.

I can tell you, we knew every single bloody toilet stop in the four hour trip to our destination!

It had been eight years of inconvenient toilet-seeking, leading up to our retirement, so I was very happy when the specialist said it was time for Dee to have a prostate biopsy (yech, but cancer-free, yay), and then a prostatectomy.

In layman’s terms, a ream and bore!

This was performed on the Gold Coast, a couple of months before our big move to the country, and was, in all accounts, a very successful operation.

Dee was rapt! He was able to pee without issue. His one hundred and fifty nocturnal visits to the loo ceased, and he was proud to inform me that he was once again fully functional, if you know what I mean! Teehee.

We successfully made our move to acreage out in the whoop-whoops.

Whoop-whoops — an Aussie expression that means living out the back of Bourke, which means — oh, never mind.

We were living in a tiny community where nobody knew or wanted to know, anybody. Our house was three-quarters of an hour’s drive to a very small country hospital.

Turned out that we only had a month of country living before Dee found he had a new issue.

He couldn’t pee at all!

Being who Dee is, he decided to wait until he was unbearably uncomfortable before allowing me to drive him into “town”.

By the time we made it to the country hospital, Dee was in a bit of a state. His belly was distended. He was moaning periodically. In summary, not very Dee-like.

An emergency department doctor took Dee straight into a little cubicle and documented his medical history. I believe they contacted the Gold Coast specialist. The upshot of this was they thought Dee had either an infection or scar tissue blocking his piss gear near the prostate. (I have it on good authority that this is medical lingo)!

This all took a further two hours, by which time I was squirming watching Dee squirming, and growing more agitated by the minute.

I knew enough to know what the interim measure should be — “Where?” I asked a hovering nurse, “is a bloody catheter?”

She shrugged and glared at me as if I had no idea what the situation was, and drifted regally out through the curtains surrounding Dee’s ED bed.

As if my prayers were answered, the same nurse reappeared with a trolley carrying cathetery, (new word — commit it to memory plebs), bits.

Yay! Dee would soon stop being pregnant and we could discuss further treatment with the medical staff.

Next thing, Dee’s how’syerfather was whipped out to be gripped determinedly by the nurse who began trying to feed a tubey thing into his little black hole. She tried. And tried. And tried.

Nurse called for assistance. A doctor joined her. Together, they tried. And tried. And tried.

Honest to God, I have never seen a dick turn pale, but this one did — grey-pale, withered, miserable, dejected. I couldn’t help but think its manly days were over!

The mini op was a distinct failure. Both medicos shrugged helplessly, muttered something incoherent, covered the dying bird with a little sheet, and left the room.

I was extremely worried that Dee would burst, showering piss all over the ED. It would serve the idiots right.

About fifteen minutes later, Dee’s moaning had reached a crescendo — the musical background to my under-the-breath swearing.

A new doctor and a hot male nurse responded to our plight, telling us they were going to cut their way in through Dee’s lower abdomen and insert the catheter that way.

Dee was not happy as he could see the potential for infection, especially if the doc was a bit inaccurate with his catheter threading.

Despite our voiced concerns, the doc popped a local anesthetic into Dee’s belly. I wondered that didn’t set off a chain-reaction explosion, but the piss in his over-extended bladder remained in situ.

Thank God! I was within splattering distance.

Together, the male nurse and doctor made their hole and tried to insert the tubey thing. And tried. And tried. And Tried.

Finally, the doctor shrugged and the tall, good-looking, rather effeminate nurse announced, “This is ridiculous. I’m calling the hospital at the Gold Coast again.”

He swept majestically out of the cubicle.

The doctor popped a stitch or two in Dee’s new hole, muttered something intelligible again, and excused himself.

By this time I was desperate, trying to figure out in my panicked brain, what I could do to help my husband.

I felt weak-kneed and helpless. Dee was through-the-bloody-roof uncomfortable, and not able to contribute any ideas on possible courses of action.

“Look out boys, we’re going in!”

Ten minutes passed with us both in a fugue of panic when suddenly, the curtains around Dee’s bed were ripped apart!

Dramatically, the hot gay nurse burst into the cubicle, holding a sterile tray of instruments which he deftly popped down on the trolley.

Throwing back Dee’s modesty sheet, the nurse grabbed Dee’s sickly old fella and loudly declared, “Look out boys, we’re going in!”

It was a moment of levity that dragged us both instantly into knowing that things were going to get better.

I gasped as I saw the massive size of the catheter tube that Nurse was wielding. He laughingly told me the hospital on the Coast had advised using the biggest he could find.

“But,” I spluttered, still amused over his entrance, “… a garden hose?”

He laughed again. “Well, not exactly, but close enough.”

Within deft seconds, the catheter was fed through the patient’s mangled and manhandled manhood, and Dee was enjoying relief as his retained golden fluid flowed. And flowed. And flowed.

We were not out of the woods, but I will always be thankful for that competent, outrageous nurse who saved our day with a flourish, a shimmy, and a frickin’ tube the size of industrial conduit!


The ‘garden hose’ stayed in place for nearly three months. It made grocery shopping and outings a little awkward but I did enjoy looking at people’s abhorrent expressions when we had to venture out.

Haha. Wankers. If only they had seen what Dee’s balls looked like when infection set in!

Visualize throbbing giant, over-ripe eggplants — but that’s another story you probably don’t want to hear!

Eventually, Dee was sent back to the hospital on the GC. The intention was to operate and fix whatever was causing the blockage. A camera revealed the over-large catheter had kept everything expanded, allowing things to heal and settle down around it.

Drainage gargantuan was removed — Dee required no operation, and had no further trouble.

He insists I tell you his manhood remains intact!

Kristine Laco tells us how she sacrificed her pinkie to save her middle finger.

John Peck compares bleeding through his nose to bleeding like a woman. I don’t think he knows much about anatomy, but this is funny anyway!

This’ll get your saline dripping because I wrote it. Raine Lore



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Raine Lore

Raine Lore

Independent author on Amazon, reader, graphic artist and photographer. Dabbling in illustration and animation.