I would like to thank you for reading my blog. Your comments, publicly and privately, have kept me motivated during this down time. Let’s press on.
In case you missed the accident post
When I last left you I was having trouble urinating. Nurse Shannon impressed upon me the importance of urinating. If she didn’t have 350 ml of urine during her shift then I wouldn’t be allowed to go home. The clock was now ticking… against me.
You might recall from my last post that I was unable to eat my breakfast. It had been more than 24 hours since my last meal — a protein shake. I drank my juice and had a scant amount of oatmeal which I promptly threw up during my two PT visits. As the hours passed my stomach came back online. I ordered lunch and consumed it zestfully. The cart arrived. The main course – macaroni and cheese, the cheese was delightfully browned from the center giving way to the caramel colored brunt edges – just the way I like it, bread rolls in individual baggies with frozen butter, oh why oh why can’t I have soft butter… and mixed vegetables that, surprisingly, were not overcooked. Am I really in a hospital? Compliments to the chef, serveur! I had been drinking juices and water moderately up until that point.
I starting to feel my bladder expanding. A nice accompaniment to my pleasantly full stomach…finally. I thought I must be ready to urinate. I reached for the bed pan set myself up and I waited…and waited…and nothing. I was having performance anxiety of a different type. The nurse checked in on me and again I handed her an empty bottle with the shame of someone turning in a final exam to a proctor being ill prepared and subsequently the document is devoid of correct answers.
She informed me that the surgeon was concerned. His concern would lead to my torture at the hands of the pleasant nurse Shannon. The next thing she said made me shudder, “….Catheter”. Few words can put the fear of God in you like that one word. Can you say shrinkage?
The Greeks are famous for saying everything in moderation but I don’t think they had to fear a catheter. Drinking in moderation wasn’t working. The fear of a catheter was now my new source of motivation to HYDRATE! I thought about all the times I did long training rides and didn’t hydrate by the “one bottle and hour” rule. I often go on 6-8 hours rides and not pee once. I feel fine and finish my rides quite strong with surges and sprints towards the end. I feared that living in this chronically dehydrated state had now impacted my ability to pee on command.
With renewed interest and now stress added on top, I began a more aggressive plan on hydrating. I had a new goal a new challenge! However, I still had reservations. What happens if I fill my bladder up and then still can’t urinate? Wouldn’t that be it’s own torment? Wouldn’t that be a more serious medical issue?
I used to ride a motorcycle I’ve had 3 very fast motorcycles (Ninjas and Suzuki’s) from 600-1100 cc. Yes I was the guy in full black Hein Gericke leathers, Alpine Stars racing boots and blacked-out face shield. Yes I was also the guy ripping up and down Palomar Mountain that you detest. I have done some ridiculous things on motorcycles. Often I would find a stretch of road and open it up! Full throttle! top Gear! Redline! or as motorcyclist call it WFO (wide fucking open) referring to the throttle — 150-160 mph on the freeway or if I was lucky enough to find a deserted road I would “PEG IT”. I would take the motorcycle to it’s limits scraping pegs, knees and mufflers on curvy canyon or mountain roads. The adrenaline coursing through my veins as I laid the bike over just inches from the ground made my body tingle. I am lucky to have escaped certain death in many situations. Motorcycling taught me to be a great bike handler and a fearless and skilled descender on my human powered bike. Now when I descend a mountain on a pedal bike things seem to be happening in slow motion. If I take a line and then need to alter the line I can and often do. On a motorcycle you get one shot … you bank into a corner and it better be right. I loved my Sunday mornings on my motorcycle. Yeah “I used to be a motorcyclist … But that was BC.”
Garden variety catheters
A few more of my attempts to pee in the bottle had come to naught. I had stalled nurse Shannon long enough. She left the room and returned with a packet. She explained that this must be done because for some reason my body was not working properly. I was awake on the 7th floor but my urinary system was still downstairs in the Operating Room. Nurse Shannon and I were about to take our relationship to the next level.
.If you have never had a catheter installed while you are awake you can’t relate. If you have then I apologize for having you relive with me the discomfort and pain of what I am about to describe. It was the strangest sensation. I felt like I was urinating but I wasn’t and it felt all wrong it was all in reverse. I could see the seemingly harmless, flexible and pliable red tube disappearing into my penis and I could feel it entering my body now. When it hit bottom, my bladder, she moved the tube in and out. I felt like I was finally urinating. I squawked, “oh good we have something now!” She simply shook her head in a disapproving fashion the way a pitcher signals to his catcher when he doesn’t like the catcher’s recommendation … he shakes off the pitch selected and throws the heat instead. Shannon then pulled out the catheter and seemed as frustrated as I was.
Nurse Shannon returns she has consulted with the surgeon. She has to try again. The surgeon hypothesizes that the nurse has put too much lube and that some of it must have plugged the very small opening of the catheter tube. Wait, that was too much lube? Are you kidding? I tremble imagining what no lube would feel like. And then I’m horrified to hear that she will be putting that damn tube in me again. I tried to urinate on my own but I only have a dribble to show for my intense focus – 350 ml seemed to this cyclist brain to be an interminable climb!
Here we go again with the catheter sliding into me. In and out once she hits bottom and still no flow. She pulls the tube out and scraps everything. I’m really concerned now. She rushes off to call the surgeon. She returns arms akimbo and says if I don’t start flowing soon we will have to resort to more extreme measures. She smiles but I sense the urgency in her voice. I’m not sure what qualifies as extreme measures put that damn catheter up my !@#$ was pretty damn extreme lady! My refractory urinary system is putting me through hell!
I hated writing when I was in school. I enjoyed just one writing class in college, just one. All my other classes were a chore. They were work and requirements for my degrees. Yeah degrees — I have a few of them Associates because when in the Marine Corps you never know when you are going to get transferred so you better get it while you can. Bachelor of Science from Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University — later my alma mater would become infamous during the 9/11 investigation when it was discovered one of the terrorist had attended my school. Oh yeah and a Masters of Business Administration MBA finance because I thought I was going to be a VP in some corporate empire. I digress, when I started blogging back in 2004 or 2005, can’t remember, I discovered that writing was actually enjoyable. If I could choose the subject matter I wanted to write about then it was fun. Devoid of the encumbrance of a time schedule or the requisite subject of which I must expound upon my writing became pleasurable — can you tell I don’t like structure or being told what to do? Hence why I became a business owner… to do it my way. My blog posts allowed me to express my interests. I felt obliged to divulge the secrets of my successful races. But more importantly I felt duty-bound to communicate, in significant detail, my failures. Yeah “I hated writing… but that was BC.”
I am now determined to make this happen. Time and time again I attempt to urinate. Beads of sweat actually form on my brow as I concentrate and push with all my might. And then… a dribble. Then a trickle. And finally a stream. It had been 30+ hours since I had last urinated. Each time I had something I would call the nurse into the room. I was like the properly prepared student standing at the teacher’s desk waiting to have their Ace quality paper graded. I eventually had more than 350 ml for nurse Shannon- always an overachiever. But there I was each time a little more flow and each a little more proud of my urine in a bottle. Isn’t that just ridiculous? But this meant no more catheter from the evil woman! Nurse Shannon wasn’t evil but that damn catheter… This straw colored liquid in the graduated vessel meant my freedom!
Staples on my right hip
Thank you for reading my blog. With my urinary system working discharge was imminent. Stay tuned for a more pleasurable post about the family and friends that made my stay enjoyable.