“Mr. Bansil, just have a seat on the examination table and the doctor will be right with you.”  

The door closes behind her, and I’m standing there alone in an examination room.  It’s got all the things you’d expect in one.  Blood pressure machine, weight scale, little sink, a couple of glass jars filled with tongue depressors, and cotton balls.  Seems legit.  

I step towards the table and plop myself on top of a fresh white sheet of tissue paper that protects the vinyl underneath.

It’s 2006.  I’m 27, and I’m sitting here waiting for a medical examination.  Not just any regular one.  No, this is an exam required by the U.S. government solely to determine if I meet their health standards to get a Visa to move to the U.S.  You see, I’m getting married in 3 months in Charleston, SC, and this is the last step in the process before they’ll let me in.  

Problem is, I don’t want to do the exam.

I’ve done everything the U.S. government wanted. I got re-vaccinated, I let them scan my eyeballs and take my fingerprints.  I sent them a bunch of photos proving that I am in a real relationship with my fiancée, but this last thing they needed.  This crossed the line…

A letter from U.S. immigration came in the mail three months ago.  My dad dropped it on my lap as I sat at the kitchen table.

“Hey Neil, it’s prom the U.S.”

I opened it up and it was the letter letting me know the final things that I needed to do before they could issue a Visa.  I started scanning…

“Ok…I need to get re-vaccinated.  No problem.  I need to obtain a copy of my full medical history.  Easy.  The last thing I have to do is get a physical examination to be performed by a physician approved by the U.S. government…Okaaaay.”

I kept reading…

“The physical exam will require the following items to be inspected:  eyes, ears, nose and throat, heart, lungs, lymph nodes, skin, followed by an examination of your external genitalia.”

I read that part again.

“an examination of your external genitalia.”

I Googled.

“Oh…my…God.  They need to inspect my dick!”

What kind of fucked up shit is this?  

Why does the U.S. government want to know what my dick looks like?

I’m sure for a lot of guys out there this is no big deal.  I mean, I once drove a van with 5 white guys who thought it would be hilarious to get buck naked in the back, so when I turned around to ask if they wanted to take a bathroom break, there they were, just hanging free.  No thought as to if the shock of seeing them naked might make me lose control of the van, causing us to roll over and kill everyone, which no doubt would leave more questions than answers.  

I wish I was that free. But like a lot of guys when you feel as though you’re not as equipped as you’d like, you avoid situations like that.  That’s why I don’t pee in public toilets that don’t have dividers or just have that pee trough.  I don’t go streaking.  I don’t skinny dip.  In fact, I have lived my whole life trying my hardest not to expose myself to strangers simply because of my fear of embarrassment.

But now, if I don’t go through with this, not only will I not be able to move the U.S., but I’d have to call off the wedding? 

So, here I am, sitting on this examining table, nervous, scared and anxious.  I look down at my tear-away pants that I bought specifically for this occasion.  I can just rip them off like how basketball players do when they get called into a game.  In some ways, I’m resigned to my fate.  I love my future wife and if this is what I have to do to be with her, this is what I’ll have to do.  

There’s a knock on the door.  My heart jumps.  My hands reach for my pants ready to tear them away, but it’s a false alarm.  It’s just the nurse.  She checks my eyes, ears, nose and throat, heart, lungs, lymph nodes, and skin…
and that’s it…she doesn’t ask me to take my pants off.  I breathe. I think to myself,

“Oh my god! I think I’m in the clear!”

But then she turns to me and says, “Ok.  Just sit tight.  The Doctor will be here shortly to do the rest of the exam.” 

“Fuck.”

The door closes and the nerves come back immediately.  I can feel my chest twitching.  All this anxiety can’t be good.  I lift my waistband and take a look at myself.  

“Shit, it’s hiding from nervousness.”

So, I reach down…and…wake it up.

To the naked eye, it may have looked like I was masturbating.  

Ok. It definitely looked like I was masturbating, but I can assure you, I was just tryin’ to give it some life.  Not stand up at full attention, just…you know, just stretch out a bit, get the blood flowing.  I wanted to make a good impression!  I sat there for 10 minutes hardcore warming up, until I heard another knock at the door.  

I sat up straight.  My heart stopped beating. 

The doctor walked in and said, “Hi, Mr. Bansil, my name is Dr. Chang.  I’ll be doing the rest of the examination.”

I let out a sigh of relief because not only was he male, but he was Asian too.

I don’t know what would’ve happened if like Shaq walked through the door, I’d probably call my fiancée right from the table and tell her to just go ahead and cancel the wedding now.

Dr. Chang said, “O.K. Mr. Bansil, I just need you to lay down on the table, face up.”

Here we go…it’s go time.  

I lifted my legs up onto the table and lie back.  I just stared at the fluorescent lights shining from the ceiling and waited for the next instruction.  Dr. Chang sat on a little stool with wheels and rolled closer to me, 

“Ok, I’m going to do the external genitalia exam now.”

I said, “Should I take off my pants?” as I reached down to my sides, ready to tear them off.   

He said, “No, that’s not necessary.  I just need to take a peek.”

Then he slid his thumb along the inside of my waistband from the side and towards the front of my pants.  As soon as his thumb reached the center, he brought his head closer towards my stomach, his gaze already directed downward to my groin, and then…

He lifted my waistband up for 1 maybe 2 seconds, let go and the elastic snapped back to my skin.

“O.K. that’s it!” he said. 

In my mind, I couldn’t believe it.  This doctor just played peek-a-boo with my penis.  There was no touching, no tugging, no grabbing. He didn’t need a stethoscope or magnifying glass.  He didn’t even wear gloves! It was just a quick “He-Yo!”, a simple “One-and-done”.

I didn’t know what to say.  I just blurted out the first thing that came to my mind.   

“My fiancée seems to like it.”

And with that, I left the doctor’s office feeling like the weight of the world just came off my shoulders.  

Three months later, I got my Visa, moved to the U.S. and married the woman of my dreams.
 
And now, whenever I doubt myself or think like I might not be good enough, I try to remember that day with Dr. Chang. How many other people can say that their dick has received a stamp of approval from the United States government? Seriously…

I mean, if it’s good enough for America… 

Thank you.