Don't normally think about it ~ pee that is. Nature has a way of managing these things beneath the level of awareness. But what happens when you discover that not all the pee you void and see, is all that's being produced and got rid of? Some of it remains inside and you can't actually see how much.
Wish I could lift a flap or have an app to check my levels. Recently I've been measuring, so I know what's going in ~ coming out. But as I said, because you can't see inside, it's hard to know what's left over.
There's always something, but, if there's too much left in the bladder and it's hanging around, that's not good apparently ~ could back-up and damage the kidneys. An ultrasound scan would show me ~ I've had these ~ but you can't keep going to the hospital to do this test all the time.
If there's too much left over, you need to get rid of it somehow and that means a catheter. Over the past year, for this very reason, I've catheterised myself over a thousand times ~ ouch, not fun. I recently stopped doing this after the 'rebore' operation and I'm now a couple of weeks into a Trial Without Catheter or TWOC as they call it.
It's great not using a catheter, and being the TWOC ~ that's what they call me ~ but it will take a while (several months) to recover and see if the operation has been a success. However, I'm gradually feeling better day by day and I've decided to revert to being what I've always been, (as several people would agree ~ I know who you are), a TWERP.
Being a TWERP means that I can lead a life of Totally Wonderful Everyday Regular Pees. As nature intended I think. I don't mean to be reckless and kid myself, and I remain vigilant and mindful of the hazards of not being fully informed and aware of what's really going on inside my body. But until they develop a miniature scanner, an app or a flap, what more can you do?
Just like the pee, the urge and stress to check all the time comes and goes ~ I guess for the moment, I'll allow myself to accept the situation, move steadily from TURP to TWOC to TWERP, be mindful of it all and let it be. Here's hoping. 😉🤞
Wednesday 17 July 2019
Tuesday 2 July 2019
Bulletin Number 6 ~ It's Peetiful and there are no Guaranpees (The Operation)
I go in to hospital for the 'rebore' TURP operation tomorrow to stop the retention of urine and ease the blockage caused by my prostate 'going LARGE '. It's under a general anaesthetic but I'll be home the same day. I will be sore and there will be an in-dwelling catheter for forty eight hours. I go back in two days to have it removed.Then it's down to peeing au natural (if I can) ~ naturally, I don't mean in the wilds or the street.
It's been almost a year now of catheterising myself (every day 4 times a day ~ since August 2018 ~ over 1150 times.... ) I'm hopeful I won't have to do that any more, but ~ as I've been told several times ~ there are no guaranpees. The consultant doesn't say guaranpees of course ~ he's had the customary GSOH bypass operation (quite a high success rate in medics).
On the day before the operation, there is a good omen ~ or at least I think it is a good omen. I am cleaning windows at the back of the house when suddenly the Red Arrows ~ the whole airborne display team ~ fly very low in a sweeping curve right over me. I salute them! I'm sure there is something quite lovely about me standing there holding my limp-leaky hose, with all those macho-men@mach1 shooting by....
That evening (the one before D-day) I'm surfing the radio and happen to catch Derek Jarman's 'Blue'. I was transfixed. It's a kaleidoscopic multi-media experience largely performed by him exploring his approaching death (for real) sadly, he expired from complications due to HIV Aids. The drama was not perhaps the happiest and best of preludes to my looming operation.... but as in 'Warnography', we might say, I was hooked and totally drawn in. Who doesn't want to know what their death will be like?
To continue the metaphor, it's D-Day at the hospital and although I'm first on the operating list, (in my imagination, head-down, leaping off the landing craft ramp, fully-laden on to the cacophonous deathly beach below, getting shot at from all directions), amazingly, I don't die ~ not from the rebore operation anyway. Boredom maybe? As a friend predicted, there was a lot of hanging around. But no of course I wasn't bored, there was so much to be mindful of.
Young men with impossibly recent dates of birth. The constant backdrop of an eerie lift-shaft wind-noise like you get in 1930's Film Noire movies. Everyone sadly and separately immersed in their phones, magazines, music and leaflets (the silence occasionally punctuated, I observed, by reckless and inappropriate comments about Brexit and Women's football) ~ there was much to be amused and saddened by. Not trying to do anything, just being there, sitting, breathing and noticing it all as best I can. For example, putting compression stockings on to prevent a DVT was very funny. Every one of us donned them in a different way ~ I think the hole was meant to be underneath, but who knows? Certainly showed how individual we all are.
It's done! The operation is magically over and I'm in the recovery room where everyone's busy doing something again ~ pacing up and down, texting, listening to music, reading. I'm just sitting. I don't have my phone, a watch or anything and this evening is the first time I've not had to catheterise myself in ages and that's because there is already a 'standard practice' in-dwelling catheter in place following the operation. I can pee at will! Poor Will.
Hang on though chum, don't get too excited, as we said before, there are no guarantees that the operation will work and possibly you may have to self-catheterise for the rest of your life. Some people do have to do this or have to have a permanent catheter in place. Doesn't bear thinking about, but that's Life.... so I think about it.
During the operation, a catheter has been fitted to help drain the blood and to flush things through. The nurse tells me to drink 3 litres of water a day for the next few days and compliments me on the colour of my urine, which is already 'Rose' (Rosay, as in the wine). I'm also told that I'm a 'model' patient (because I'm not being sick, falling over or having worrying vital signs) I feel like a model actually ~ mostly an Airfix kit with no instructions and the wrong sort of glue ~ but I don't tell the nurse.
There is a sense of unreality about the whole thing, made even more surreal by reading the handout I'm given with instructions on such important topics as.... "It is advisable to wait until the catheter comes out before resuming intercourse", (of course) and.... "Most men experience dry orgasm where seminal fluid passes back into the bladder...." (really?) helpfully, the handout continues.... "This does not cause any harm, but does decrease the chance of fathering children." (useful to know). And.... "You may notice some blood and debris (debris?!) come out when you pass urine....again, this is common and can continue for up to 3 months." (Sheesh! Never taken a pee that's lasted that long before....)
Back to the hospital again tomorrow to have the catheter removed and to see if I can manage without one. We've become very attached, but it would be wonderful to pee normally again without leaking all over the place or not going at all and not having continuously to tote tons of catheters around with me. I'm making climate change worse here all by myself!
Joking and peeing aside, I do hope that my plumbing will return to some semblance of normality soon. I want to get on with the rest of my peetiful life ~ mindfully. No doubt you want to add.... "Urine good company there!?"
It's been almost a year now of catheterising myself (every day 4 times a day ~ since August 2018 ~ over 1150 times.... ) I'm hopeful I won't have to do that any more, but ~ as I've been told several times ~ there are no guaranpees. The consultant doesn't say guaranpees of course ~ he's had the customary GSOH bypass operation (quite a high success rate in medics).
On the day before the operation, there is a good omen ~ or at least I think it is a good omen. I am cleaning windows at the back of the house when suddenly the Red Arrows ~ the whole airborne display team ~ fly very low in a sweeping curve right over me. I salute them! I'm sure there is something quite lovely about me standing there holding my limp-leaky hose, with all those macho-men@mach1 shooting by....
That evening (the one before D-day) I'm surfing the radio and happen to catch Derek Jarman's 'Blue'. I was transfixed. It's a kaleidoscopic multi-media experience largely performed by him exploring his approaching death (for real) sadly, he expired from complications due to HIV Aids. The drama was not perhaps the happiest and best of preludes to my looming operation.... but as in 'Warnography', we might say, I was hooked and totally drawn in. Who doesn't want to know what their death will be like?
To continue the metaphor, it's D-Day at the hospital and although I'm first on the operating list, (in my imagination, head-down, leaping off the landing craft ramp, fully-laden on to the cacophonous deathly beach below, getting shot at from all directions), amazingly, I don't die ~ not from the rebore operation anyway. Boredom maybe? As a friend predicted, there was a lot of hanging around. But no of course I wasn't bored, there was so much to be mindful of.
Young men with impossibly recent dates of birth. The constant backdrop of an eerie lift-shaft wind-noise like you get in 1930's Film Noire movies. Everyone sadly and separately immersed in their phones, magazines, music and leaflets (the silence occasionally punctuated, I observed, by reckless and inappropriate comments about Brexit and Women's football) ~ there was much to be amused and saddened by. Not trying to do anything, just being there, sitting, breathing and noticing it all as best I can. For example, putting compression stockings on to prevent a DVT was very funny. Every one of us donned them in a different way ~ I think the hole was meant to be underneath, but who knows? Certainly showed how individual we all are.
It's done! The operation is magically over and I'm in the recovery room where everyone's busy doing something again ~ pacing up and down, texting, listening to music, reading. I'm just sitting. I don't have my phone, a watch or anything and this evening is the first time I've not had to catheterise myself in ages and that's because there is already a 'standard practice' in-dwelling catheter in place following the operation. I can pee at will! Poor Will.
Hang on though chum, don't get too excited, as we said before, there are no guarantees that the operation will work and possibly you may have to self-catheterise for the rest of your life. Some people do have to do this or have to have a permanent catheter in place. Doesn't bear thinking about, but that's Life.... so I think about it.
During the operation, a catheter has been fitted to help drain the blood and to flush things through. The nurse tells me to drink 3 litres of water a day for the next few days and compliments me on the colour of my urine, which is already 'Rose' (Rosay, as in the wine). I'm also told that I'm a 'model' patient (because I'm not being sick, falling over or having worrying vital signs) I feel like a model actually ~ mostly an Airfix kit with no instructions and the wrong sort of glue ~ but I don't tell the nurse.
There is a sense of unreality about the whole thing, made even more surreal by reading the handout I'm given with instructions on such important topics as.... "It is advisable to wait until the catheter comes out before resuming intercourse", (of course) and.... "Most men experience dry orgasm where seminal fluid passes back into the bladder...." (really?) helpfully, the handout continues.... "This does not cause any harm, but does decrease the chance of fathering children." (useful to know). And.... "You may notice some blood and debris (debris?!) come out when you pass urine....again, this is common and can continue for up to 3 months." (Sheesh! Never taken a pee that's lasted that long before....)
Back to the hospital again tomorrow to have the catheter removed and to see if I can manage without one. We've become very attached, but it would be wonderful to pee normally again without leaking all over the place or not going at all and not having continuously to tote tons of catheters around with me. I'm making climate change worse here all by myself!
Joking and peeing aside, I do hope that my plumbing will return to some semblance of normality soon. I want to get on with the rest of my peetiful life ~ mindfully. No doubt you want to add.... "Urine good company there!?"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)