Does Your Dick Hurt?

I had a New York rite of passage last week that didn't involve: seeing a man jerk off on the subway, getting spit on by a homeless dude, or finding mice in my apartment. I was in a cab crash! I wish I could tell you all the gory details, but the fact is I was fast asleep and all I remember was being jolted awake as our cab hit the cab in front of us on the corner of 36th and 3rd ave.

We — Drew and I — were coming home from Brooklyn late Thursday night after seeing the legendary Isaac Hayes in Prospect Park and I was so dead tired after a string of sleepless nights, that as soon as I leaned by head against the dirty window in the back seat of the cab, I was out. And anyhow, I've learned the hard way that I can only tolerate riding in cabs by closing my eyes and imagining myself meditating on a mountain top, breathing in fresh high-altitude air through my nose and out through my mouth, so chances are I wouldn't have seen the crash even if I hadn't been asleep.

I do know that our cab crashed into another cab and in a matter of seconds, Drew and I were on the street waiting for a police report and thinking about going to the ER. Our cab was pretty smashed up, but I honestly felt fine and didn't see any reason to waste time sitting in an ER waiting for someone to tell me what I already knew.

"I feel fine," I said to Drew sleepily, "Let's just get in another cab and go home. I mean do you feel okay?"

"I feel okay now," he replied, "But what if we're in pain tomorrow?" he asked. "We need to get a police report to take to the ER so we don't get stuck paying the bill."

"But there's nothing wrong with us!" I argued. It was 1 am and insomnia had kept me awake the last 3 nights and all I wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep for hours and hours and hours. Instead, we waited forever for the stupid police report and then dragged ourselves out of bed early the next morning and went to the ER to "be on the safe side." Drew, responsible citizen that he is, argued that we needed a record for insurance purposes to show we'd been checked out in case we felt any pain later on. I, on the other hand, only had two words on my mind as I accompanied him to the ER: prescription painkillers.

At the ER, I told the triage nurse that my pain was a "5" on a scale of 1-10, thinking 2 wouldn't get me the good stuff, and 6 or 7 might be stretching the truth a bit too much. "Where does it hurt?" she asked. "Hmmm..." I said, "my neck?...and my back?" I added, rubbing my shoulder blade. "And...and I have a headache!"I said, suddenly pleased with myself.
"Wait here while I talk to your boyfriend," the nurse said pointing to a chair in the hall.

Five minutes later, Drew joined me and told me we had to go get checked out by a doctor.
"What did you tell them was your pain level?" I asked as we made our way to the examining room.
"A 4," he said.
"Ah, man,"I repied, "you shoulda said 5."
"I'm not in that much pain," he replied.
"A 4 isn't gonna get us the good stuff," I said, shaking my head disappointedly.

In the examining room, Drew and I changed into hospital gowns as we waited for the doctor.

"I'm worried I could have internal bleeding," Drew said, rubbing is abdomen as I tied my gown behind me.
"Ooh, that's good!" I said, suddenly impressed with his story, "That oughtta get us something!"
"No," he said, "I mean it. What if i have internal bleeding? They say you can't even feel it when you've got internal bleeding. What if I die?"
"Well," I responded, "I guess I won't have to bother calling an ambulance..."

Just then a man in scrubs walked in and said, "So you guys were in a car accident, huh?"
"Yeah," I replied, rubbing my neck, "I think I got really bad whiplash or something. I'm at least a 5 on the pain scale. Maybe even a 6!"
"Hmm..." he said, unimpressed, "I'll check you out in a minute. Let me talk to your boyfriend first."
"Okay," I said, shooting Drew a look that said, "Don't fuck this up!"
The doctor asked Drew to lie down and then he said something I've never ever in all my life heard a medical professional say:
"Did you take a dump today?" he asked Drew.
Seriously! That's what he said! Just like that: "Did you take a dump today?" Like, I don't know, like they were frat brothers who'd had too much to drink the night before and were all bound up and wondering if the other was feeling as uncomfortable.
And then! Then he asked Drew if his balls hurt! His balls! And then, just when I thought it couldn't get any more unprofessional, he said, "What about your dick? Does your dick hurt?"

Oh my god! Forget good painkillers, I suddenly just wanted a good doctor. What if we really did have internal injuries?! What if we really were bleeding to death?! Was this the doctor who'd be able to save our lives? A doctor who asks his patient if his dick hurts?

After he finished examining the both of us, he declared us "banged up."
"I'm going to go get some prescriptions for you and then you'll be free to go home."
"Yes!" I said after he left the room, suddenly re-energized, "We're going to get prescriptions! It was worth it, after all!"
"I guess..." Drew said, obviously still worried about internal bleeding.
"Drew, relax. We're fine. We don't even have any bruises. It was just a minor accident. And now we're going to get good painkillers for the weekend!"

We finished getting dressed and sat in the waiting room. Another 45 minutes later, the doctor finally came back out holding a bunch of paperwork. "Here," he said, handing us each a prescription, "Motrin. Take 2 tablets every 4-6 hours until the pain subsides."
"MOTRIN?!" I said, incredulously, "Motrin?"
"Yeah," he replied, "Motrin."
"But I'm at least a 5 on the pain scale...maybe even a 6!!"
"Take them every 4-6 hours," he replied and then walked away.

"Now my dick hurts!" Drew yelled after him.  "My dick hurts now!"
But it was too late. The doctor was gone, we'd just wasted a whole morning in the ER, and all we had to show for it was some fucking Motrin.

Comments

[Dingo]

So Dr. Feel Good was all into whether Drew's dick was having a good day and whether last night's dinner was effectively working its way through his system but you got no love? What about your boobies? What about your hoo-ha? Yes, you should've told them your hoo-ha hurt. Then again, he would've chalked it up to PMS and you still would've walked out with the Motrin. Better luck next time.

[e.]

What is with prescription Motrin, anyways? Don't they know you have plenty of the same stuff in your medicine cabinet at home? Sigh. When I got my very impacted wisdom teeth cut out of my face under general anesthesia, all they gave me was Motrin, too. I was very disappointed.

[teahouseblossom]

OMG..you are too funny!!

Are you sure that guy was a real doctor? Maybe he just plays one on tv.

[Krissa]

OMG! I would have been so fucking freaked out. Remind me to start using my damned seatbelt in cabs.

[Beth]

hahahha.....does your dick hurt?...sheesh....

I used to work nights in a hospital and you would be amazed at how many people you had to just say " I need you to pee in a cup"...."have you farted since surgery" etc....alot of people aren't very sophisticated when it comes to bodily function verbage. Although..I never did say "when did you last take a dump?"....poop was my word of choice.

[Natalee]

Ok, first of all? That was the funniest shit I've read in a looong time, so thanks for that! Though I'm sorry you had to go through a cab crash to provide me with an evening's entertainment.

Secondly, I don't think that guy was a doctor after all! I think he just stayed at a Holiday Inn Express!

[Joy @ Big Time Fancy]

Oh my god. I am CRYING at work. I am sitting at my desk, rocking back and forth and CRYING. People are STARING. BEST STORY EVER!!!

[Ajlouny]

Very funny story....MOTRIN?!?!!? too funny