Manogram

A few days ago I received a reminder from my health insurance provider that I was past due for a prostate checkup.  For a man the prostate checkup is as dreaded as the mammogram is for a woman.  So why don't we just call this procedure a manogram?

What, exactly, is a manogram?

Well, a manogram is an annual date between a doctor and a man and usually consists of soft light and a Nat King Cole CD playing in the background.  And we get the feeling that doctors don't like administering these tests any more than men enjoy receiving them.

Naturally, women want to know: what, exactly, goes on in there (and up there)?  And, since no medical journals explain the procedure accurately, and because most men are tight-lipped about this annual rendezvous, I feel compelled to offer a few insights here.  I'm coming out of the closet, which should be a good thing for all men, and they can thank me later.

The manogram begins with the patient (usually a male in his forties or fifties who is in reasonably good health and doesn't need any intrusion up there) entering the examination room, where he is greeted by a beautiful female nurse named Bambi who asks, "And what brings you in to see the doctor today?"

Here several veiled references to the prostate are offered, including but not limited to:  "I'm here to get jiggy wid' it" or "I feel like I have a gerbil lodged in my duodenum" or "I've been peeing the bed for the better part of five years and my wife is beginning to complain." The word "prostate" is never used. The nurse takes notations while limping through the blood pressure check (sometimes laughing hysterically or getting red-cheeked) and then says, "The doctor will be with you shortly."  (This, of course, is a lie . . . it will be hours before you actually see the doctor.)

Men at this point begin praying that the doctor will be male.

When at last the doctor appears--usually after the patient has requested to urinate twice and has called out for Jimmy Johns delivery--the dance begins.  The doctor once again asks, "And what brings you here today?"

More veiled references are proffered, usually with heavily-peppered stories ending in the phrase, " . . . and my wife thought I should see you" or "I hear you make a mean martini."

The doctor nods, blushes slightly, and then dons a pair of blue rubber gloves that the patient hopes are fresh out of the box.  At this point the doctor might: a) offer a selection of Perry Como tunes b) dim the lights c) apologize for having ice-cold hands.  The doctor might also say something like: "If this doesn't work out, I've got some friends who can see you on Wednesday" or "Oh, yeah . . . I remember you!" or "This is going to hurt you a lot more than it hurts me."

At this point the patient is invited to drop trou and lean over an examination table.  Phrases to watch out for here would include: "Holy-moley!" or "Are you married?"

(Let us here skip over the delectable details of the procedure and move directly into clean-up on Aisle Seven.)

Here the doctor removes his gloves, washes his hands twelve times in a stiff detergent that could, conceivably, remove the epidermis, and then sits on a stool (yes, that's a pun!) before offering his feedback.  "Felt good," you hope he will say.  "You're good to go."

One never wants to hear: "Felt bad" or "Have you, by any chance, been neutered by a drunk veterinarian?"

The manogram ends with the secret handshake and the doctor hastening to the nearest telephone to order Chinese.

Moo Goo Guy Pan is the most common.  And the doctor never orders anything with nuts.