A Personal Story Involving My Butt and a Tongue Scraper

Some stories are too good to be forgotten. Here is an excellent story from my old blog that I had to bring over. Enjoy.

As with all stories about my butt, this one too, starts with my throat.

In the summer of 2009 I was getting sick every two weeks. I would literally just be recovering from a serious cold when another one would begin. At this time I was working with teenagers in an Independent Living program and let’s just say it may have been a bit more independent on their part than they bargained for.

After lying around on the couch and feeling like death for the better part of 3 months I decided to finally go to the Doctor. He took one look down my throat and almost vomited. I’m sure of it. He later told me he’d never seen such infected tonsils as mine—quite a feat to impress an ENT doctor—an appointment was made immediately for my tonsils to be removed.

*Quick Tangent: I get incredibly nervous about having any procedures done. I’m not quite sure why I’m such a weenie. When I was 12 I was supposed to get my appendix taken out but just hours before my surgery I pretended I was miraculously recovered and convinced the doctor I did not need the operation. Luckily I was fine! Appendix explosion and imminent death did not ensue. Two days in the hospital and an intrusive anus fingering later, it was just gas.*

The morning of my tonsillectomy I was a nervous wreck. My trusty sidekick came along so she could drive me home but ended up coddling me like a baby all morning. I think she secretly liked seeing me so pathetic.

As in all situations, I tried to make the best of it. We were cracking jokes and being irreverent when my stern-faced nurse made her appearance. This was a serious matter and we needed to act as such. Boo! This lady was going to make an unpleasant situation even more miserable.

While at the scale checking on my weight and height, I was cracking a few jokes. She wasn’t having it. Bolstered by the courage that comes from being terrified I placed my hand on her shoulder (no joke) and said, “Listen, this day is going to be awful but it will be a whole lot worse if we don’t have fun.”

Stone Cold.

Back in my room—four curtains surrounding a bed—we began to sober up a bit. Obviously this lady wasn’t messing around and I didn’t want her to be harsh with me again about quieting down. So we looked around for things to steal.

Nurse-Stern-Face came back in to ask me questions.

“How old are you?”


“How are you feeling right now?”

“Just fine.”

“What did you have for dinner last night?”

“Just a Caesar salad”

“Wait! What? You had a salad? Didn’t they tell you not to eat any leafy greens the day before your surgery?”

“NO! What?!!” I panicked.

“Oh, no, this isn’t good.” She said with no intention of reassuring me. “Who did you speak to on the phone that gave you surgery instructions?”

“I don’t know” My voice was getting shrill

“It was probably Elizabeth. This is the 3rd time this week she has forgotten to give people the proper instructions before they come in. The problem is that leafy greens create a lining in the large intestine that have the possibility to combine with the anesthesia and be fatal.”


“It’s ok, it’s happened before. We’ll just have to give you an enema. How many bags of saline solution do you think you will be able to hold at one time? One or two?”


“Will you need to lean over a table or do you think you could just bend over and support yourself?”


“We’ll also have to scrape out the lining of your anus. Have you seen those tongue scrapers that people use when they brush their teeth? It’s kind of like that.”

My friend was in a fit of hysterical laughter and I was imagining myself bent over a table holding in two bags of warm saline solution while this demented nurse went at me with a tongue scraper.

“Are you serious?”

“I’m very serious. Do you think you will be able to do this or shall we reschedule your appointment?”

I knew I couldn’t reschedule. It was hard to get this appointment and I had already mustered up the courage to have the procedure this time, I couldn’t do it again later.

“Ok, yes. I can do it.” I could! I could do anything. I’m tough.

“Ok, I’ll go get the supplies.” She stood to leave and as she pulled the curtain back she turned around and pointing to my friend who was literally on the floor laughing said, “She told me to do it.” and then left.

I didn’t understand what was going on until my darling but soon-to-be-dead friend said, “I did NOT tell her to do that! She did it on her own… but I can’t believe you fell for it!”


“So I don’t have to have an enema?” I was slow to catch on.

“No you idiot, she was messing with you the whole time.”

I’m not gullible, I’m trusting! I believe people when they tell me things because I don’t see why they would lie. And when it’s coming from a NURSE, Nurse-Stern-Face to be exact, why would I think they would mess with me.

The patient to my left could be heard in fits of hysteria on the other side of my curtain-wall. He also, it seems, could not believe I fell for that.

My nurse—Nurse-not-so-stern-faced-after-all became my favorite lady. Ever. I actually sent her a Thank You card after the anesthesia wore off.

I LOVE when people don’t take themselves too seriously… And when they seek revenge on their bratty patients for telling them to loosen up.

I deserved it.

And honestly, a butt tongue scraper? Brilliant.

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