Urology. The dark arts of investigating malfunctioning bladder and bowels. I doff my cap to anyone who enters or leaves medical studies and says, “I know, I’ll become an expert in wee and poo and stuff.”
Sadly, like many a person with Multiple Sclerosis, I’m well-acquainted with urologists and their capacity for rummaging around and describing with complete precision the shape and size of my prostate. All the while chatting to me about the time of day or this afternoon’s weather.
And the title of my blog, “One man and his catheters,” may just indicate one routine I have to follow three or four times a day. The first time I did it, the nurse training me, (no, she wasn’t young, Swedish or gorgeous), told me she feared I would pass out. It really is rather scary at first poking something up your willy. But it soon becomes as routine as brushing your teeth. And much quicker. Best not mix the two jobs up though…
Usually a urology check-up lasts a few minutes at most. This afternoon, as a result of my recent morphine-hazy hospital stay with a stonking bladder infection, I’m in for a thorough examination. Could be up to four hours they tell me. I’m wincing thinking about it. And I won’t be reporting any details back, thank you.