“Excerpt from Out of Patients: A Novel is published with permission from the University of Nevada Press.”
Women go to physicians more than men. Partly that’s having a uterus, because menstrual periods can be flighty, and because women control fertility. A man can’t take a pill or implant a device in his body. He can’t get hormone injections or have hormone rods put under his skin. There’s no monthly calendar for him to monitor, for none of his days are “safer” than others. His anatomy offers no natural pouches for inserting creams or gels or rings or sponges or rubber cups. If he wants responsibility, he has two choices: condoms or a vasectomy.
Of course, female patients see physicians for many concerns besides periods and reproduction. They tend to be in touch with their body-mind connections, and feel comfortable pursuing answers. I’m biased, of course, but much of the time men just don’t seek the same kind of help and advice.
Anyway, that day I saw more men than usual. Minor complaints like foot fungus and sore hamstrings from lifting too hard at the gym. Potentially serious complaints like chest discomfort and testicular pain. A weed aficionado who wondered why he couldn’t get it up. No surprise, probably because of the weed. And finally, Niles Gomez, with the opposite concern—he could hardly keep it down.
Twenty-five-year-old Niles usually saw Brian Mulch, the last time two years ago. Young adult males rarely visit doctors. I felt curious about his switch to seeing me, for Mulch had openings most days. Maybe Niles felt uncomfortable seeing a man about his genitals. I could imagine, though, that talking to a woman nearly old enough to be his grandmother might also be odd. It felt like a compliment, anyway, so I quit over-analyzing. Always a tough task for me.
“This is pretty embarrassing,” Niles admitted, looking at his hands.
His black hair stood up in a short crewcut, his skin broken out in scattered pimples. He seemed young but sincere. We’d already talked about his work, writing for a small community newspaper, the kind of rag that shows up in your driveway and you toss without reading. He also translated the Spanish-language version.
“Don’t worry,” I assured Niles. “I’ve seen or heard just about everything. Nothing is off limits here.”
“Okaaaay.” A long exhale. “I just . . . I mean, I’m worried about . . . Okay. It’s normal to masturbate, right?”
“Of course. Completely normal. For both men and women.” I nodded to bolster him, but he looked down again and picked at a cuticle. “Is there anything else you wanted to ask about that?”
“Okay. Here goes.” He looked wretched. “Can you masturbate too much? Is it dangerous or anything? I’m kind of worried.”
This seems like a strange time to mention it, but one of the best things about family medicine is how you just never know what might happen next. It could be mundane or complicated, life-threatening or sad, or as simple as pie. It could involve ears or toes, hearts or kidneys. One minute you’re laughing with a patient, and five minutes later you’re crying with another. It’s a splendid roller coaster, and it’s rarely boring. Some days, in fact, I could use a little boredom.
“Why are you worried?” I asked.
“Because I do it a lot.” Niles flushed. “What if there’s something wrong with me?”
“First of all, there’s probably nothing wrong.” I paused until he looked up at me. “There’re no right or wrong numbers here. Let me ask you some questions, and then we can see.”
He nodded tightly.
I ran through my list. He never missed work, or a meeting, or a deadline, because of it. He never avoided friends to stay home instead on a porn site. He had a girlfriend last year, and now hoped to ask out a new prospect soon. He never masturbated to the point where his skin turned painful or raw or bruised—he looked aghast when I asked that.
“I’m not finding any concerns,” I concluded.
“That’s great.” he said. Partly relieved, he still looked tense. “Does that mean you don’t need to examine me? I mean, down there? My friend said you would.”
There are times when I want to smile but I do not. “No, absolutely not. It sounds like your parts work just fine. You just needed a consultation because you had concerns.”
“Will it . . . I mean, it won’t . . .” He stopped and started over. “Does it mean I won’t get turned on by real women if I keep doing it?”
“Not at all. Just let me know if anything changes or you have other questions. I’m always here.”
Now he relaxed and grinned, slightly crooked teeth but a nice smile. He shook my hand, pumped it vigorously, one foot already out the door.
“Thanks, Dr. Waters. Thanks so much.”
When he walked down the hall, he had a jaunty spring in his step. That’s when I could smile. That was a huge scary step for Niles, and I respected his courage. In his heart, he knew he shouldn’t rely on his friends with their misinformation, so he did something about it.
Sandra Cavallo Miller, author, www.skepticalword.com
29th May 2024
