Water Sports

Well, that was an experience I wouldn’t like to repeat!

I had my little operation and miraculously survived, amen and hallelujah. It was only supposed to take half an hour but as usual I can’t do anything by half so I ended up two hours on the table – a tight pipe and a big stone make uncomfortable bedfellows.

I was lying on the table before entering the theatre, a bit nervous I admit because you’re putting your fate in another’s hands. It’s the same reason I don’t enjoy flying. Just out of interest why do they call it a theatre? If you’re rolled in awake would you expect to see the surgeon with a hunchback and a crown hamming up “Now is the winter of our discontent, made glorious summer by this son of York…”?

I remember the two anaesthetists either side of me, the man preparing concoctions and the woman giving me oxygen and talking to me in soothing tones. She was tousling my stubby fringe like my mom used to do when I was a kid, I found it surprisingly comforting. The man introduced some morphine to me: Mr Breslin, this is Mr Morphine; Mr Morphine meet Mr Breslin – how do you do…so very pleased to meet you. I looked up at the woman, half expecting her to break into a soft lullaby, I remember saying “Oh man, I’m so mashed!”

The anaesthetic joined the morphine in its trip through my veins and finding a home in my brain and the man said “Just drift off to sleep now.”

I smiled and said “Yes…” It was dark.

I woke up in a different room with different people around me, talking to me, telling me I was okay. I’d have to take their word for it because I didn’t feel okay, I was confused and shaking like a manquake. “It’s alright its just the gases wearing off” I was assured. I didn’t feel assured, what if it didn’t stop, it’s not stopping, I’d never be able to type again, people would call me Shaky and stare at me in the street… it stopped.

I was taken to a ward. Other men were there. I tried to sleep but I couldn’t assume my usual, comfortable foetal position because of the catheter pulling painfully. I lay there awake all night, desperate for sleep yet wracked with cramps. A nurse came up to see why I was awake and I explained to her that every time I moved the catheter was pulling my willy, “Not always a bad thing,” I told her. She laughed at that and offered to move my pipe into a more comfortable position. I asked her if she charged extra for that particular service but she assured me that wasn’t the pipe she was referring to as she moved my catheter so it wasn’t as taut. Bloody NHS!

As the sun came up over Burton on Trent she came to see me again to check if my flow was clear. It was and she removed the nasty device that had made my night so hellish. Removing the air from the balloon in my bladder with a syringe, she took hold of the pipe (the catheter’s, not mine) and told me to take a deep breath and she’d pull it out as I exhaled. Three excruciating exhales later she triumphantly held her pipe in her hands and, distraught, I held mine in mine. “How was it for you?” she asked sweetly.

I’ve been released and have not stopped peeing since I got home, every five minutes it feels like. The stone is smashed, I’m peeing debris, feels like gravel. The advice sheet they gave me said this sometimes happens. There was quite a bit of blood but now it’s just got a pinkish tinge yet every time I go my kidney aches like I’ve been punched there (and trust me I know, I’ve been punched there), it isn’t used to all this work. I might be like this for a few days. Great!

They haven’t finished with me yet. In about four to six weeks I have to go back to have the stent taken out. Back in through the snake’s eye, this time with just a local.  Looking forward to that too.

I’m sorry that I went into it in such detail but why should I go through it alone? After all, what are friends for?