Back that thing up.

I have a new appreciation for doctors.

Granted, I've always had an appreciation for doctors but now I value them even more because that job sucks. Yeah, they get paid a lot, but they deserve it. Think about it: they're dealing with puss and veins and kids' snot, three of the grossest substances / presences on the planet, people do nothing but complain to them, they're just sitting down to dinner and their beeper goes off because some paranoid mom such as yours truly has a child with the sniffles, and they spend all day in a windowless office wearing rubber gloves. I hate rubber gloves. I should amend my earlier statement about puss and veins and kids' snot to include rubber gloves. God, I'm getting the heebie jeebies just thinking about them.

And even during well visits, you're never talking about good stuff. They just sit there rattling off the list of maladies you may have had or may very well will have before the clock runs out. High blood pressure? Thyroid problems? A family history of rickets? They never ask you if your hair has gotten any thicker or if you discovered you have a high tolerance for expired food, or something else equally cool. The conversation always winds up a downer.

When I was in my preteen years I thought I wanted to be a dermatologist, under the impression that I could wear a white lab coat and design skincare regimens for celebrity clients. Then I found out it's mostly lancing boils and parting butt cheeks on the hunt for precancerous moles. Survey says? No dice.

This comes on the heels of several unplanned doctors appointments in the last few weeks. There was one for June while in Winnetka, in which a sweet pediatrician accommodated our transient selves to give us the blessing that June, with her cold, was well enough to fly. Then there was another while in Winnetka, only for me, during which I flashed a nurse-midwife, causing her to wince (I'll get to that in a second), and the third was here in New Hampshire, when I visited the poor physician who had to go poking around, um, downstairs to determine whether or not I had hemorrhoids. I referenced this in an earlier post.

I know what you're thinking -- "Uh, gross." I realize no one wants to read about my butt. No one. Least of whom, my husband. But I was begging him to indulge me in a little discussion on the matter. He didn't want to hear about my infected black fly bites, so why in sweet baby Jesus' name would he want to hear about rectal bleeding? Unfortunately his wishes were not heeded and he not only had to hear about it, he had to buy me Preparation H.

Before I go on, let me tell you I DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT have hemorrhoids. Turns out all the fuss was over a very minor irritation that arose from childbirth. Nothing to it, nothing required. And for those ladies expecting their first children, embrace the possibility of a) this sort of thing happening to you, and b) this disturbing comfort level in discussing these sorts of things also happening to you.

And I believe this could be of help -- or at least for a good "been there, done that" chuckle to some of you -- as I believe most of my readers are moms themselves. And a 63-year-old father of mine. And potentially one or two Catholic priests. But I digress...

I think this was the most surprising part of this whole ordeal: I had this poor doctor's finger up my butt and I didn't bat an eye. One minute we were talking about his visit to Saddam's palace while he was stationed in Iraq, and the next he was a couple inches away from tossing my salad. I listened, I cracked jokes (what else can you do?) and I shook his hand at the end (ha) of it all. He used terms like "bottom" and "fanny" and I countered with "butt" and "booty." I remarked that this was a helluva way to kick off a Friday. He told me he liked my story that had run in the paper that morning.

I have to give a lot of credit to pregnancy and childbirth for giving my modesty a kick in the pants. The whole "drop your drawers, and spread 'em" directive is so ho-hum that I'll do it at the dentist if I have to. Would you like me to hold the light in place for you, Doctor? Skooch in any particular direction? Point to the trouble zone on that medical poster of a woman's bottom half? Help me help you.

Don't get me wrong, the experience was still thoroughly awkward, especially since I was convinced I had the H-word (what Greg insisted I call it) when in fact I had nonesuch. How one goes about experiencing a false positive for hemorrhoids I may never know, but I did it. Clearly I've never had hemorrhoids before or I would have done a better job of identifying the problem. In the meantime, I needed a doctor who had confronted more carnage in the pit of Sadr City to tell me I was healthy and to eat more fiber. Thank God for that $0 copay.

For those of you who have stuck with me this far, thank you. For all the others who have navigated away from this page in favor of that Web site with the live feed of those Akita puppies, I hope you will return.

In related news, the more recent doctor's visit was for mastitis. Or as I described to my dad, who promptly put his fingers in his ears and started ululating, "an infection of the hooter." Which is almost intolerable soreness and a red stripey presence that looks like someone cold-cocked the underside of my tatty. I have loved breastfeeding so far. Honestly, it's been wonderful. The bonding, the health benefits for June, the convenience, the savings, the assistance in the weight loss -- I'd do it forever if that wasn't creepy. This is the first hiccup and I attributed it to the fact that I wasn't pumping while I was in Winnetka. Or maybe it was an ill-fitting nursing bra. Or maybe my "era of good boob feelings" time was up. Either way, I got some horse pills that make my mouth taste like I've been eating mulch and I'm almost 100 percent better.

Point being, very little grosses me out anymore.

You wish you could say the same about this post, huh?


(And happy father's day to my blessed husband, father, fathers-in-law, late grandfathers ... and all the other guys out there who showed up and then some.)