Well I'm all blushy with the kind thoughts. But prof, whaddaya, whaddaya, what? I don't understand what you're saying - that it can't be true because I only put a bandaid on it? Or that a bandaid would be impossible to tolerate in that sensitive area? Regardless (notice, inna, I did say "REgardless"!) that's the way it happened.
And particular thanks to kat and mother - I would have appreciated the help greatly although I'm afraid if my wife couldn't have done it, then I would have been just too shy to have done it anywhere but an ER or a doctor's office. My wife is a teacher and she was a bit of a sissy when we got married. 25 years and two kids later she's not as sissified, but she will still opt out of any unpleasantness if she can. So we're both glad I was able to grapple with the problem myself.
But do you you know, in getting rid of the Angry Interior Gluteal Invader, what was almost as good as the relief of the pressure and pain? It was FEELING that explosion! It had so much pressure I could actually FEEL it pop open, and even heard a little "tick!" sound from the pop. Oh MAN! It almost gives me goosebumps even now to think of that bursting sensation.
Mother, about you nursing, when I was in school I worked a few years as what was then called an orderly, and which now would be a "male nursing assistant" I suppose. I wasn't studying in a health field, but it was pretty good money then and the hospitals were always looking for people to work on the weekend.
My crude medical skills were just a few days of in-hospital "school" and OTJ training about how to insert caths, keep a sterile field, shave for surgical prep. I was mostly just beef, doing the transferring, bathing, enema-giving, bedpanning and cleaning up for male patients. (The worst? Cleaning up the uber-obese patients after a bm. God bless 'em, I felt so sorry for them because they were just humiliated by their helplessness. I was always careful to remain cheerful with them, and make sure I played it like it was just another day at the office, no big deal. But talk about being "up to your elbows in work"! Yikes! But I'm not telling you anything you don't already know a hundred times over.)
What I learned in the job was the general "life-competence" of so many nurses. They weren't just good at their jobs, but they handled themselves well generally. Of course there were the screw-ups, flakes and the ones who liked to see how little they could get by with doing, but those types you can find in almost any job. By and large the good nurses were solid "let's get 'er done" no-nonsense women (nurses were 95% women and 4% gay males in the 70's). Nurses weren't helpless or looking to be rescued; they were usually very good in a crisis; they had a wicked sense of humor; they were tough when they had to be; and although they could act gruff, they actually had a great deal of sympathy and even love for their patients. (I hated those doctors who tried to shift the blame for their mistakes onto the nurses. I usually found that the less competent the doctor, who was almost always a male in the mid-70's, the more likely he would try to bully and blame the nurses.)
I liked and respected nurses, and I thought the profession was a pretty good place to look for a future mate in when I got ready to do that. I dated some nurses, got serious with one. But I finally married a girl who was in my other top choice of profession for a mate - teaching.
So good for you, mothereruption, for being a nurse. When the stuff hits the fan, the people we need to have around us are nurses and cops and soldiers, not models or tv news anchors or lawyers. We sometimes forget that.
EDIT: BTW, re the "hygiene" thing - a soaped-up, soft-bristled, long-handled "back brush", which isn't used on any area except down there. Never a problem in years.
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