The urologist had already seen the bulge in the patient’s pants. Something was hanging between her leges, and that something wasn’t good.
She was a woman in her late seventies and she had been taking care for her husband who was bed-ridden due to Parkinson’s disease. So she had postponed this very medical consultation for many, many years. While the thing had been hanging there all along.
So when she undressed, the urologist took a deep breath because she immediately understood what was going on. And one thing was obvious: the thing between her legs was dead.
The patient didn’t open her mouth because of the shame — she had been hiding her secret for over five full years. And the secret was her uterus which had prolapsed out of her body on a very busy day, and it never became quiet again. So it had hung there for days, then weeks, and now years.
And it was hanging there now.
Black, necrotized, at first very smelly but now dried out and amorphous — not reflecting at all that it once had a meaning, or a purpose. It was only dead meat now.
She sat on it when she celebrated her 50th wedding anniversary. She had hidden it whenever her husband was around when he was still sane. She had washed it on an every day basis. She had hated it all along.
The patient then looked at her doctor and said that “her husband had Parkinson’s, and that she never found the time to take care of herself. To take care of the problem down there.”
The doctor smiled (the patient reminded her of her grandmother), and she said she understood. And that it was time to solve the problem down there —
Once and for all.
SOURCES: Graves, William Phillips, 1870-1933, No restrictions, via Wikimedia Commons.