My name is Matthew Crockatt and I have a Hernia. Maybe two. That means my intestines are trying to escape into the space my testicles vacated when I was a little boy. Through a tear. Yeah - that's nasty isn't it?
I went to the Camberwell Green surgery early so that I could still take Finn to nursery and get myself to work on time. I said I didn't care which Doctor I saw so long as he had the shortest queue and they said a name and told me to go up to the first floor. Up I went, found the name on the door and walked right in. A rather surprised man looked round.
"Morning mate. I think..."
"Are you a patient?"
"Er, yes. Are you a Doctor?"
"Yes, but surgery hasn't started yet."
It's a while since I visited a Doctor so I totally mangled the etiquette. Sat with a selection of the Living Dead for a few minutes reading The Ginger Man until a brisk "Mr Crockatt" summoned me back. I told him I thought I had a hernia and that I knew this because I had a friend who was a Doctor and...
The Doctor was pointing at his bed. I took off my jacket and lay down.
"Please stand up Mr Crockatt"
I stood up. I opened the top button of my jeans and pulled my boxers down a little way.
"The bulge is here"
"I'm afraid you're going to have to be a little less shy Mr Crockatt. I need to see the whole, er, architecture of the area."
And so my trousers are on the floor round my ankles and I'm letting it all hang loose. (Architecture?) It's at this point that I realise the last time I saw this man he was feeling my wife's breasts. Yup, she had a nasty case of Mastitis when Finn was tiny and the same man diagnosed it and sorted it. Mixed feelings I suppose. On the one hand I was thinking "Good - he was right last time" on the other I was thinking "Hmmm, so now you have intimate knowledge of the intimate parts of me and my wife. There are hardly any people with that knowledge."
I was going to put a picture of a Hernia here but they are all so gross I can't handle it.