Let Me Get This Right… You Want To Put WHAT, WHERE?

Anticipation, Terror, and Pain In 60 Seconds

I used to be terrified of having any kind of medical procedure done, especially ones involving the insertion of instruments into sensitive areas of my body. The thought of someone shoving a tube up my butt or worse—my urethra—was enough to make me break out in a cold sweat. So, when my doctor told me I needed to have a cystoscopy, I was absolutely petrified.

The room, exceptionally cold, meant there was the potential for embarrassing shrinkage. Watch the episode of Seinfeld if you need clarity. The medical assistant handed me a paper gown and told me to strip from the waist down and hop up on the table. 

“The doctor is running a few minutes behind today,” she said. 

I don’t recall those words feeling comforting. I searched for the device…you know, the one that would be inserted into a pinhole–my pinhole… and tried to find a thermostat to bring the temperature up a few degrees.

As she exited the room and left me to assume the position, I finally realized the discomfort and humiliation women must experience at the gynecologist's office. There I was, alone in this ice-cold room, feet in these stirrup-like footrests, with my junk dangling precariously beneath a thin, crunchy, paper medical gown. 

I was shriveling inside and out.

The clock ticked away, and all I could think about was how they were going to get that tube up… inside me. Sweating and shaking, I understood why the room was so cold.

The doctor walked in smiling and cheery as if he’d just discovered he won the Mega-Millions, and I was to be his last patient. We spoke for a few moments–I can’t recall a single word of that conversation–before he pushed a button on the wall. The button lit up, and I held my breath, thinking this was the moment. It wasn’t… yet.

Suddenly, the medical assistant who escorted me into the room was back, and I quickly realized this show had an audience of two. She was the doctor’s assistant for my procedure.

“Sit back and relax,” he said. “This only takes about sixty seconds.”

Having come from a world of copywriting, I knew EXACTLY what sixty seconds was. …Around 150 words, or too long.

I Felt Like A Death Row Inmate

Lubricant squished onto his gloved fingers with a wet squirt as he applied it to the cystoscope. 

This is how a death row inmate felt in their final seconds… my thoughts reeled, my heart pounded, and sweat poured down my face… 

A cool breeze wafted across my ever-shy package as he lifted my paper gown when I noticed it.

He looked at the assistant with this side-eye. You know what I mean. I was being judged in a moment when judging wasn’t really fair. 

The room temperature had taken its toll on me. My fear vanished, and curiosity took over. I drifted into deep thought for a moment before the searing pain gripped me.

The scope violated me. It was like someone lit a match inside me as it journeyed from the icy room to my bladder. I counted off the 60 seconds the whole time, hoping time would speed up. I stared at the ceiling, wincing as the device, which now felt like a welding torch, made its way into parts of my body that had never seen the light of day, nor, until now, had ever been infiltrated by a medieval torture device. 

“Look,” the doctor shouted gleefully. “This is the inside of your bladder,” he continued, pointing at the TV screen just inches away from me. 

He must have thought I was interested in attending a show-and-tell class in his office. I wasn’t. All I could think about was the ever-increasing feeling I had to pee and hoped I wouldn’t piss all over the floor when he removed the scope.

As uncomfortably fast as the rod of fire went in, he yanked it out with such speed I thought my eyeballs would be sucked out too. The torture ended, and my shrinkage had reached its maximum volume… or is that minimum?

Needless to say, I won’t fear my next colonoscopy after THAT procedure.

Yes, while this is a highly personal story, it is my story. You might also be wondering why I am sharing this story on my blog; you might be thinking to yourself, what does this have to do with copywriting? It has everything to do with it.

You see, I like to tell stories in my marketing. This one happens to be personal and a bit uncomfortable to share, but if you’ve made it this far, I’ve accomplished my goal.

You engaged with my content. I made you laugh. I made it memorable and most of all, helped position Ad Zombies in your brain (and me in stirrups and a paper gown) as the go-to copywriters for businesses worldwide.

Finally, I have good news to report. The cystoscopy was clear, and I’ve fully recovered from the shrinkage. To this day, I wonder about the side-eye and hope they’ve forgotten my name and my crotch.

I thought you might want to know that.