Confession: I Had Worms

When I was 8 years old, I got worms.

As a child, I played outside a lot, which usually resulted in the removal of my shoes. Anyway, according to the doctor, one day some sort of worm pierced the bottom of my foot, made its way into my bloodstream, and somehow found its way into my intestines. Once in my intestines, it proceeded to crawl down to my anus to lay eggs every night.

As an 8-year old I was mortified.

Primarily because when I thought “worms” – I thought “big, backyard, earthworms” – not pinworms. Unfortunately, this was never fully explained to me and for some while I thought that I had earthworms living in my body. Needless to say, I had trouble eating for a few days.

However, despite the sheer horror of having thousands of wormy creatures writhing in my intestines (and coming out to lay eggs every night!), the doctor visits concerning these worms were much more terrifying.

Allow me to explain:

When my mother first suspected that I had worms (probably after watching me scratch my ass for lengthy periods of time), she took me to the doctor. Because it was the summer time, my little brother wasn’t in school, so she took him to the doctor’s office with me.

When my turn rolled around, my mother and little brother accompanied me into the examination room.

Once in the examination room, we all got to meet with my weird, deep-voiced nurse. First, she attacked me emotionally by asking me all sorts of embarrassing questions like, “Have you been playing in any poo-poo lately?” I don’t remember how I even responded. I just remember being deeply insulted that she even considered me the sort of person that would intentionally play in animal shit.

Then she asked, “Has your little tush been itchin’ you lately?” This struck me as an insanely personal question – especially to pose in front of my mother. “I guess,” I sheepishly replied.

Now that she was done attacking me emotionally, she proceeded to attack me physically.

“Well, there’s only one way to know if it’s worms for sure,” she bellowed as she patted the examination table. “Hop on up here, son.”

I did as I was told and climbed up on the examination table.

“Lay on your stomach, please” she ordered. If I had only known what was going to happen next, I would have never willingly rolled onto my stomach.

Before I knew it, that fucking bitch had my pants down around my ankles. No warning, no hesitation – just pants down, right there.

Panic-stricken, I froze and tried my best to act casual – which is pretty fucking hard to do when your pants are down in front of your mother and your snickering little brother.

What happened next was 100% unbearable. The nurse took it upon herself to SPREAD MY ASS and place a strip of tape on my ANUS.

Then she said, “We’re gonna catch us some eggs tonight. Try not to poop, okay?”

My brother exploded with laughter as I struggled to get my pants up.

I specifically remember the ride home. The car was totally silent. My mother probably knew I was embarrassed, but knew that addressing the issue would make it worse. My brother just sat in the seat next to me, smiling and pointing at my face – proud that I had tape on my asshole and he didn’t.

The next day was just as horrifying as the last. I was dragged to the doctor again, where the same nurse bent me over the table and removed tape from my asshole – again, in front of my mother and brother.

Why couldn’t she have just told me to take the tape off myself in the bathroom? Why did she have to do it? It doesn’t take a professional to rip tape off of someone’s asshole. And why would she bend me over in front of my mother to rip it off? These doctors treat kids like fucking animals. I mean, if I went to the doctor with my mother, I’m pretty sure they would put me in a different room if they were going to spread her ass – and they should. But me . . . no – I was 8 – I didn’t have the privilege of dignity.

After looking at my ass-tape under a microscope, the deep-voiced nurse concluded that I did in fact have worms. I was given a prescription and my little tush eventually quit itching.