A Pain In The Stamp


 

It all began with a trip to an orthopedic doctor to see if he could do something to eliminate my lower back pain. And it could’ve turned into me potentially becoming part of medical history.   


Let me explain. After the obligatory x-rays and 40 minute wait in the examination room, the doctor finally came in with the x-rays in hand.  


“So where’s the pain?”, he asked. 


I responded, “well it began right here.” And I pointed to the left side my lower back, and said it keeps going right along where a tramp stamp would be.”


For those of you that aren’t  all cool and hip like me (and don’t have a young daughter-in-law to explain things like this), a tramp stamp is a tattoo that runs the length of the lower back, just above the panty line. It’s actually a quite descriptive and very accurate term. 


The physician, a younger chap, exploded into laughter.  “I’ve never, ever, heard that part of your body called that.” he gushed. 


“Well, when  I said it, you knew exactly where I was talking about, right?”


“Absolutely.”


“So it was the perfect choice of words, right?”


“100%.”  


Then he takes my x rays, places them against the lighted screen and said, “ Do you see how those two discs are compressed in the…tramp stamp area?”


Now I started laughing.  


“Hey, from now on, that’s what I’m calling it,” he replied. “I’m not kidding.”


That got me on a roll. 


“You could use a medical abbreviation and call it a TSA for Trump Stamp Area.”


“And if you have to surgically remove it, the procedure could be called a trampectomy.” 


“If it was a small one, would you call it an acute tramp stamp.” 


“Hey, you could give it a scientific name like trampus stampus.”


Now he’s really laughing so loud a couple of nurses are peering in the exam room. I’ll bet one of them had a tramp stamp.  Finally, he gasps, “you ought to be a comedian.”


If he only knew. 


Well, I’m just hoping to have this word end up in a medical journal somewhere. And I’m really praying that after an MRI on my TSA, that he doesn’t have to perform a trampectomy. 


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

God & The Rolling Stones

Image
  “'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future. '” —  Jeremiah 29:11 .  It’s not often that I put a plan together that works. Normally, anything I come up with will almost certainly go awry, and that’s certainly how one of my latest schemes  began.  Amazingly, shortly after this plan of mine began to unravel, it turned 180 degrees and became one of the best things I’ve ever done. So, as a believer, I feel like that the Almighty had His hand in this - even if it was a Rolling Stones concert.  I still maintain that it was a good idea. The minute Stones concert tickets went on sale, I bought two pair - for us and another couple. Then greed took over my soul and I decided to speculate and buy four more tickets to sell at a ridiculous profit. If I played my cards right, I might have made enough money to buy a Maserati, or even a shopping basket full of groceries....
Read more

The Eyes Have It

Image
  For any of you in my eighth grade class, I think it’s past time for me to apologize to every one of y’all. Because if you have ever looked at our class photo, like I just finished doing, you will be reminded of what an idiotic thing I did.  Let me elaborate. In the 8th grade, I was a chunky little kid with a backpack full of insecurities - especially when it came to the opposite sex. And like a lot of guys in my class, the focus of my attention was on Regina. She was everything a 13 year old boy could ask for. Not only was she cute - she had a great personality, and was so engaging.  Back then, I was an awkward kid with a mouth quicker than my brain. Since I figured  looks were out of the question - I’d have to rely on my wit to get noticed by this girl. So, I did what any clever boy with a hopeless crush might do: I tried to make her laugh. I spared nothing out of my fledgling repertoire: bad puns, worse impressions, and comedic commentary directed toward...
Read more

Grandmother Groupies

Image
  I heard a rumbling noise coming from the second floor of my house.  Since we almost never go up there, I thought that one of our dogs might’ve cornered a squirrel that somehow got in through the attic. I made my way up the stairs, walked in the bedroom, and saw enough stuff lying on the floor to have a yard sale.  It was my wife Carol rummaging through a closet. “What in the Wide World of Sports are you doing”, I asked.    She flashed a look of disdain and said, “I’m going through our old albums. I’ve got to find a couple to take to the concert. I’m going to get them autographed.”   I should’ve known. Tonight we were going to see a sixties band, Herman’s Hermits, featuring lead singer and Carol’s teen heartthrob, Peter Noone. For about a week, I’ve felt the anticipation building. Several times I’ve walked in our house and heard “I’m Henry The Eighth I Am” blasting away on our sound system. I have been reminded that posters of Noone, aka Herman, wer...
Read more