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So this time last week, I was in the evil clutches... er, gentle hands of the American health care system.
I arrived at Cone Hospital at 7:30 AM with my wife Andrea for pre-surgery prep work. The admissions part had been handled separately the week before.
The surgery itself was scheduled for 9:30 AM but I was informed my surgeon, Dr. Handy (I'm not making that up) was ready to go right away so the prep work was off and running.
Lying in a hospital bed, naked under a pale blue hospital gown with little yellow socks on my feet and a clear shower cap over my hair, I watched bemused as about a half dozen nurses scurried about doing whatever they had to do.
One was charged with setting up the IV. It's not my favorite thing as a nurse stuck me with the sharpest needle ever in the most sensitive part of my right hand. Having been stuck with lots of needles over the course of 2017, the IV needle is always the worse.
With the exeption of the cather needle which is stuck in the penis. They did that to me the night in January when I first fell. THEY STUCK. A NEEDLE. IN MY PENIS.
Sorry. Still can't believe they did that.
Otherwise, the IV needle is the worst. What makes up for it is the bag of happy liquid that gets hooked to a tube which is the hooked to the IV port in my hand and....
Whoa. That feels so good.
Anyway, met with my anesthesiologist. Or he may have been a cast member of Grey's Anatomy. I guess everyone had poked and prodded me within the guidelines set forth by the Affordable Care Act, my wife said goodbye, the wheels on my bed were unlocked and I was off to have my operation.
My next memory was waking up in post-op. It was like my life was a TV show. I'm wheeled off to surgery, we cut away for commercials and we come back and find out what went down during the ad break.
The surgery took longer than expected but ultimately was successful. Yes, I am now the woman I always dreamed I could be.
No, just kidding. I'll save that for the next surgery. (Still kidding.)
The bone mass was excised and apparently while Dr. Handy was in there, my fore arm was... lengthened for... reasons? It was all explained to me by a physical therapist and it's all good.
The plan was for this procedure to be out-patient but instead I would be a guest of the hospital for the night to make sure my pain medication was sufficient to regulate my pain. So I would be off to a room.
Meanwhile, hanging out in post-op, there were a couple of delays.
- My room wasn't ready as the staff that was supposed to be doing that were at lunch.
- Andrea couldn't be found. Turned out she was at lunch so there's that.
- My post op nurse was very pleasant with me but she was a bit cranky as she had not had lunch yet.
- Still a bit swimmy headed coming out of the anesthesia, the last thing I wanted to think about lunch.
With happy juice still in my veins, I was one copacetic dude.
I was chill.
I was chill as fuck.
I closed my eyes and eventually things got done, placing me in a room. And it was the exact same room I was in after my elbow surgery back in January. Not close, not similar. The exact same room.
As I'n being wired into equipment in my hospital room, I realize, I NEED TO PEE!
As I've gotten older, this how peeing works for me now.
- Do I need to pee? No, I'm good. I can wait.
- Do I need to pee? No, I'm good. I can wait.
- Do I need to pee? No, I'm good. I can wait.
- Do I need to pee? OH MY GOD! I NEED TO PEE! AND I I NEED TO PEE NOW!!!
There is no transitional moment, nothing like...
- Do I need to pee? A little but nothing urgent. I can wait.
- Do I need to pee? Yeah, kind of. Next chance I get, I should probably go to the restroom.
Nope. Straight from "no, I'm good" to Code Orange Terror ALERT I NEED TO PEE NOW!!!
In my room, the side of my bed and the door to my restroom is two feet away. From the door, another two feet more or less to the toilet.
But the nurses tell me because I'm still recovering from surgery and coming off anesthesia, I'n not allowed to stand, let alone walk. No, I will have to pee lying in bed into a plastic container or they will have to cath me.
Flashback to January: THEY STUCK. A NEEDLE. IN MY PENIS.
Suffice to say I was not chill as fuck.
I was not chill in any capacity.
I was no longer a copacetic dude.
They gave me this plastic container thing for me to pee in while lying in bed. So under my blanket and under my hospital gown, I'm sticking my penis in a plastic pitcher.
Desdpite being in a Code Orange Terror Alert I NEED TO PEE NOW state of mind, I can't urinate. Despite my urgent need, a half century of my body knowing not to pee while lying down could not be overridden. I'm lying in bed, holding this container over my penis, desperate to urinate and my body refusing to cooperate. This was most frustrating and to add to that, I'm very tired from the surgery, the anesthesia and pain meds. I wanted nothing more than to just give into all that and just rest. If I could only fucking pee into this plastic bottle thing.
I was whiney about this but I damn well deserved to be. After nearly two hours, I was finally able to produce some urine into the container. Which I promptly spilled on the bed sheets between my legs.
I push the call button, explained why I needed help. Nurses come in who do not look happy with me. I'm sure one was thinking, "He's a man! Men can pee into a bottle? Why is this bozo making it so fucking difficult?"
One of the nurses suggests to let's see if I can stand, then taking it very carefully and slowly, they would guide me to the toilet.
Which was a very good idea and I thought so 2 hours earlier when I suggested it.
Oh hell yeah, let's see if I can stand!
Cautiously, I am helped to my feet to a standing position.
Carefully and slowly, I shuffle my feet, IV in tow, towards the toilet. Standing over the toilet like a triumphant colossus, I let go with a torrent of urine like a damn roaring river.
I'm peeing like a fucking boss.
I called out "Yoo-hoo!"
This was, in that moment, dignity. Not fumbling with a plastic bottle lying in a bed, that's not fucking dignity. There's not a lot to be dignified about in a hospital; you check a lot of your shame at the door. But don't deny a man a chance to retain a shred of dignity by denying him a chance to stand on his own feet to fucking pee in a fucking toilet.
As the urine continued to blast out, I shouted, "Oh hell yeah! That is THE stuff!"
My moment of dignity, you damn well better believe it.
Finally satisfactorily drained of liquid waste, I was directed back to my dry, clean bed where I finally was able to let every cell in my body just give in to a deep and restful slumber which was all I ever wanted to do all along.
There were other minor challenges and annoyances through the night and into the morning that marred my waking moments before I was released on noon Saturday. But compared to that whole urination fiasco, I was able to deal.
As I write this, I'm still limited to the use of one hand. My left arm is coming around post-surgery OK; pain and stiffness are still a thing but getting better.
So I will halt this narrative at this point for now. Thanks for reading and remember to be good to one another.
Desdpite being in a Code Orange Terror Alert I NEED TO PEE NOW state of mind, I can't urinate. Despite my urgent need, a half century of my body knowing not to pee while lying down could not be overridden. I'm lying in bed, holding this container over my penis, desperate to urinate and my body refusing to cooperate. This was most frustrating and to add to that, I'm very tired from the surgery, the anesthesia and pain meds. I wanted nothing more than to just give into all that and just rest. If I could only fucking pee into this plastic bottle thing.
I was whiney about this but I damn well deserved to be. After nearly two hours, I was finally able to produce some urine into the container. Which I promptly spilled on the bed sheets between my legs.
I push the call button, explained why I needed help. Nurses come in who do not look happy with me. I'm sure one was thinking, "He's a man! Men can pee into a bottle? Why is this bozo making it so fucking difficult?"
One of the nurses suggests to let's see if I can stand, then taking it very carefully and slowly, they would guide me to the toilet.
Which was a very good idea and I thought so 2 hours earlier when I suggested it.
Oh hell yeah, let's see if I can stand!
Cautiously, I am helped to my feet to a standing position.
Carefully and slowly, I shuffle my feet, IV in tow, towards the toilet. Standing over the toilet like a triumphant colossus, I let go with a torrent of urine like a damn roaring river.
I'm peeing like a fucking boss.
I called out "Yoo-hoo!"
This was, in that moment, dignity. Not fumbling with a plastic bottle lying in a bed, that's not fucking dignity. There's not a lot to be dignified about in a hospital; you check a lot of your shame at the door. But don't deny a man a chance to retain a shred of dignity by denying him a chance to stand on his own feet to fucking pee in a fucking toilet.
As the urine continued to blast out, I shouted, "Oh hell yeah! That is THE stuff!"
My moment of dignity, you damn well better believe it.
Finally satisfactorily drained of liquid waste, I was directed back to my dry, clean bed where I finally was able to let every cell in my body just give in to a deep and restful slumber which was all I ever wanted to do all along.
There were other minor challenges and annoyances through the night and into the morning that marred my waking moments before I was released on noon Saturday. But compared to that whole urination fiasco, I was able to deal.
As I write this, I'm still limited to the use of one hand. My left arm is coming around post-surgery OK; pain and stiffness are still a thing but getting better.
So I will halt this narrative at this point for now. Thanks for reading and remember to be good to one another.
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