And This One Time, At Band Camp...

My beloved late father left me many wonderful gifts -- looks, smarter than the average bear intelligence, and a very unusual and rapier sense of humor. He also left me a rather unpleasant, though funny inheritance: very bad hemorrhoids.

I remember them being an issue for him always -- memories of him in a sitz bath for relief, and a house never without tubes of Preparation H.  One time, when my now ex-nephew was a small boy, we were driving, and my father was complaining about his condition -- he had one "the size of a golf ball." The little boy hear this, and started to laugh -- his grandpa had a golf ball in his tuches.  Later on, my Dad reached back, and took out a random golf ball from his pants, as if it were a 'rroid. Hilarity ensued...

So I have had them since my late 20s, though typically of the bleeding, and not painful variety. Like me, the Ds have memories of being told by Wifey that "Daddy has his period again," whenever there would be red stained pants or shorts. I RARELY if eve wear light colored pants for this reason -- especially after a vacation with Wifey when we returned from a tour of Ephesus and my tan shorts had a red bull's eye on the back...

About 20 years ago, I saw a colon surgeon, a Venezuelan Jewish guy named Marcos, whose parents are friends with my future son in law's parents. Nice we have this in common. Dr. Marcos said I could have surgery, but I opted out. My father had had a hemorrhoidectomy when he was in his 30s, and said it was awful. Any time I spoke to a surgeon -- they said the same thing: avoid the surgery if you possibly can -- it "cures" the problem, but it comes back, and the surgery is miserable.

So I told Dr. Marcos no thanks, but he said there was an alternative: banding. He places a rubber band around the base of the 'rrhoid, it dies from lack of blood supply, and passes silently away. I decided to join band camp, and I was a happy camper -- I had no symptoms for about 5 years.

I went back to Dr. Marcos, and he had bad news: my condition had progressed beyond allowing me back into band camp -- he said, in his elegantly accented English, "If I try a band, you will hit the ceiling."  No problem, I said -- just back slowly away from my backside, and we'll stat friendly.

And that was it. I deal with the issue, and it's tolerable, but recently I read there's a new form of Band Camp -- the O'Regan method. Apparently they've developed a new tool that allows banding for even worse 'rrhoids. Maybe I would be a candidate for this.

Turns out only 4 or 5 docs in Miami -Dade do the procedure. I chose on online -- a Dr. Shah, who went to Northwestern Med School, Wash U for Residency, and the U for Fellowship. I figured that was more than elite training for my tuches.

I called to make an appointment, and his NY Rican sounding scheduler at first said no. I was already a patient of GastroHealth, and they didn't allow "doctor switching." I had to patiently explain, though she kept cutting me off, that Dr. Neil is my REGULAR GI, but he doesn't do banding.

Finally, Jenny from the Block got it, and scheduled me for a visit. I saw him last Wednesday.

He was a very nice young man -- born and raised in Ft. Lauderdale. I told him my long, sad, tale of hemorrhoidal woe. He had me lie on my left side, and then his assistant. a young Cubana with one of those young Cubana names like Jesleiny, walked around to my front. I was a bit taken, um , a-front. But she reached across my belly, the better to get leverage as she lifted my right butt cheek. It all made sense.

Dr. Shah began his exploration. Was there sharp pain? There was not -- just a LOT of unpleasantness. I immediately regretted every time I told the joke about how life would be easier if I was a gay man. Not really...

After he finished with the anascope, the best named medical tool there is, he said indeed I WAS a candidate for new fangled Band Camp. But (butt?), alas, he only had one band -- someone had forgotten to order more. So he placed the band, which was painless, and told me I was all set -- come back January 22 and he would place three more -- and I should be fine for another few years.

I'm not running out to buy seersucker pants just yet -- though I always dug that look.  But at least it was a positive experience.

I was blessed to have an awesome week. And then, as if to automatically keep me on an even keel, the Big Man thought  I should have, quite literally, a substantial pain in the ass.  That's ok.

Band camp -- I'm here again.