I mean it. This post is kinda gross so now’s the time to leave if you’re easily grossed out. Though obviously now you’re going to stick around to see how gross it is, which is fine but don’t blame me, I warned you.

So remember how I said I was on antibiotics for a urinary tract thingie which I was convinced was not a urinary tract thingie and therefore I was on antibiotics pointlessly (though not entirely pointlessly because I had a boil on leg and later developed a cold which benefitted from the antibiotics)? Well, after the semi-pointless antibiotics course was over, I still kept wanting to pee ever so often, which was fine until it kept interrupting my sleep and then I decided enough! because my beauty sleep is sacred. There, I said it.

So I dragged my ass (or my hoo-ha to be exact about it) to one urologist who confirmed my belief that my problem was not an infection so much as something related to my bladder function, and then back to my GP to bludgeon him into writing me a referral to a urologist because the one I saw wasn’t covered by insurance and I wasn’t going to bankrupt myself on paying for the tests required when insurance could pick up the tab, and then to a second urologist, who was very sweet only the line to the elevator up to his building went around the block. Yes, it’s complicated and that’s just the getting to see the doctor part.

The short of it is I landed up having tubes stuck in my nether orifices to measure muscle control. I think. I was more worried about the back entrance, because I’ve never had anal sex and don’t want to either. So I did not cherish the idea of a tube in my asshole. The nurse assured me this would be less painful than the catheter in my urethra and she was right. Huh. Who would’ve thunk. The insertions weren’t that painful but then I’ve squeezed a baby out.

The problem though came when I had to pee with the catheter still in. I just couldn’t do it. I tried making susu noises as if I were a kid. The nurse left the room. I tried imagining running water. The nurse tried actually running some water. Nothing. I had 400 ml of liquid in me, which is more than I have peed in ages, and I know this because I spent three days measuring the amount I pee in a mug (yes, fun times). A minute ago my bladder felt like it was about to burst, but faced with the prospect of peeing with a tube stuck in there, my brain decided to stall. Finally, after the nurse manually started draining the fluid out of my bladder my brain decided it was okay to let go, since I had already failed.

Bah. Because it was too late and I had to repeat the procedure. The nurse assured me this was common. But this time I was determined to not fail and kept reminding my brain that it could do it. And after a small pause, it came through. Literally. I felt a strange glow of achievement. As if I had done something incredible, when I had only produced some pee and not really produced it because the pee was not pee but water that had been manually pumped into me. But whatever. I did it, okay?

I must mention here, since we’re being all award-ceremony like, that I could not have done it without the awesome nurse. I mean the woman’s job is to help people pee, and she’s so nice about it. She never giggled or went ew once. Infinite patience and concern and all that. I am always amazed that people sign up for nursing and then are not perennially grumpy as I would be had I do deal with people’s pee and poo and take attitude from doctors.

Anyway, now I don’t feel like peeing so much any more. I think having a tube stuck down it scared my errant bladder into submission. Huh.

 

 

 

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