One night in Germany my companion and I were tracting as we always did in Germany. And yes, this is the same companion as described in another post called "Setting Goals as a Missionary."
Tracting (A.K.A. Knocking on strangers' doors and bugging the shit out of them about our racist, sexist, homophobic, money grubbing "church") was the least favorite part of most sane missionaries, it was the least productive part of the mission, but for those of us in Europe - it took up most of our time. We would spend anywhere from 8 to 11 hours a day tracting. We kept meticulous records of who we had already annoyed, who we still needed to annoy, who was about due for another annoy-ing because most of our time was spent tracting, many places within our "mission boundary" had already been annoyed. This didn't stop us from rotating those places just on the off chance that someone hadn't been annoyed sufficiently.
So the next time two "Elders" who are still just babies themselves knock on your door and you think, "I swear to Cthulhu weren't these pants shitters just here?" it's because they were, but they have nothing better to do.
(I'm going to deviate here for just a second to explain that last statement. Mrs. Raptor Jesus and I were teaching Primary, Sunday School for little children, and one lesson was about "Missionary Work" and we asked the class, "What are some of the things that missionaries teach to people?" Well, this one girl who was actually a giant bitch trapped in a little girl's body blurts out in the snottiest tone possible, "Do they teach people how to poop in their pants!?"
I'll give you a minute to process that before going back to main story. There are other reasons to call missionaries "pants shitters." Most missionaries who have gone to foreign countries with exotic "water" have stories of either close calls or abject failures.)
Missionaries who tract a lot, tract until about 9:00pm. The mission rules stipulate that we are back in our apartments by 9:30, but often the zeal gets to missionaries and they begin thinking, "maybe that next house will actually let us in and to talk about a 14 year old boy who saw angels, and the people might actually believe us." And one of those endless nights we were tracting late and I mentioned to my companion that my tummy hurt. It wasn't a big deal, more of an annoyance, but we kept going.
The next morning the pain and discomfort are still there, and I again told my companion, but we didn't do anything about it. Just kept working. Around the third day though, I was in a bad state. The pain had moved to my entire abdomen and it was debilitating. Which says a lot for missionaries because the culture of missionary work is all about bragging rights. Who can "serve the Lord" the most when the Lord is either directly fucking with our lives and bodies or taking bets with Satan about how far we can be pushed before standing up for ourselves. An often repeated theme from the "prophets and apostles," "general authorities," "mission presidents," "assistants to the presidents," and other missionaries is that you should do the "work of the Lord" so fucking hard that you have to be taken home in an ambulance.
Which I did, and I really don't recommend it, but that's not what this story is about. I just wanted to give you context for "debilitating" and missionaries. This pain was bad enough that I told my companion that we needed to get our hairy asses to the hospital because something was wrong with me other than the usual laundry list of things wrong with me.
We got to the hospital and I went through the process of trying to explain to everyone what I could given my limited German. It didn't matter much because there wasn't much to explain. I looked and felt like someone had stabbed me repeatedly in the abdomen - but there were no physical wounds. I hurt, and there was no reason for it. So it was decided that we needed to do TESTS! Everyone's favorite!
I was taken into the room with the scanning equipment, and a gaggle of gossiping German women came in to undress me. I don't think everyone gets that treatment, but I was a 19 year old boy....
After the hens had come in, inspected the young rooster, clucked, and left, I was given an IV and a very small hospital "gown" and was led to my "room."
This hospital was a teaching hospital. For the next couple of days, I would never see at least one doctor.
The lead doctor came in and in doctoral fashion asked me what was wrong. I told him the same thing that I told the person at the front desk of the hospital who wrote it down, the nurses who undressed me who wrote it down, the other nurse that put in my IV and wrote it down, and the nurse who had all of it written down and then handed the writing to the doctor who then glanced at all of the writings before asking me what was wrong.
A line formed behind the doctor as he began to press into my abdomen. He was looking for the spots that caused me to growl at him. Once he found them, he went to the back of the line and the next doctor got his chance to repeat the process. Everyone got their turn to hurt me, no one was left out. I was pretty sure that some janitors sneaked in that line because it was a long line, and "any line that long HAS to be for something good."
When everyone was done coping a feel all the doctors left except for one. While he wasn't the "lead doctor" he was going to be "my doctor." He had been trained in L.A. and had impeccable English. This was good for me because my German was limited to things more like "Jesus loves you, wants you to be baptized and give all your money to his church. And you have to stop drinking wine even though drinking wine IS what Jesus would do."
This doctor asked me some other questions that hadn't been already asked. He wanted to rule out that this wasn't some kind of STD. I told him that I wasn't sexually active at the time. He then asked me in these words specifically, "Do you have any problems jerking off?" Yes, this German doctor was clearly trained in L.A. and was talking to a 19 year old male. What he didn't realize is that this kind of question for Mormons is really much more appropriate when asked by a Bishop who has a picture of a disapproving Jesus on his desk and doesn't mean. "Does anything bad happen when you jerk off?" As in, "is there pain when you jerk off, or does ketchup come out instead of tartar sauce?"
No, the bishop's context is "only evil perverts masturbate. So if you do, you have a problem that I need to know about. Do you have a problem?"
He didn't know this distinction, but I did. I simply said, "no" to his question but I found it funny enough to share with my companion.
Big fucking mistake.
My companion did not find any humor in the situation at all. What he saw was that I had an obvious moment to "teach the gospel" but I didn't take it. To him I was supposed to say, "NO, WE MORMONS DON'T DO THAT." And what that was supposed to really accomplish is anyone's guess. But missionaries are so brainwashed with magical thinking that it's is completely plausible that my companion had this reaction because he thought that if I had gotten on some self righteous high horse and told him that we were better than masturbating that this doctor might think to himself. "Oh my god! I've touched myself most of my life, and it's so not as sweet as if the Holy Ghost were to come inside of my soul while Jesus touches me. Please, Elder Raptor Jesus, teach me how to be truly happy that doesn't involve the crushing guilt that I wasn't raised with concerning masturbation, that is considered completely normal to everyone except for religious nutjobs. Please convert me to your religion that knows so little about what's actually normal and healthy but brands those things as evil and sinful. That uses fear and ignorance instead of actual facts. Please, Raptor, I don't even feel bad about this practice so Satan must have bound and gagged my soul and forgotten to give it a safe word."
Whatever. The important thing is that I didn't have Super Chlamydia, but what I DID have was still up in the air. More tests were needed.
I was given a drug in my IV that I still to this day don't know what it was. It definitely was not a full blown anesthetic. It was probably ether. I was totally high, but not "under" and in Germany this is a great time for a gastroscopy, but I don't know that word. I am only given something in my IV without words. Like I mentioned, I was high but awake. I had no idea what in the fuck was going on but I remember the feeling of movement as they carted me down to another room. The bright lights in my eyes.
People in masks
Open your mouth
Bite down on this
What the fuck is that
Masks Movement Lights
Talking. I don't understand
I feel something swimming in my stomach
Movement inside of me and out
I move my head
Gagging and Choking
I move my head
Stop doing that
Something is holding my head
Gagging and choking
My jaw hurts
Is that my jaw
I throw up a fifteen foot metal snake
Is that real
I can't close my mouth
Movement back to my room
What the fuck happened
I slept and still can't remember if it was the next day that I woke up, or the same day. I still was not sure exactly what happened, but I remember that there was a very good chance that I had been impregnated with a Xenomorph that would burst from my chest over a nice spaghetti dinner. The whole hospital was fucked too, because I really didn't think any of them was capable of rigging a flame thrower before it had killed all of them.