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

part I 

part II 

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?

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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

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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.

Where… where….am… I?  What…what…is.. this? Oh my God I can’t feel my legs! I can’t wiggle my toes! What the fuck?!

Click here for Hospital Experience I

Hospital Experience III here

Nurses come to my side and apprise me of the current situation.  I am in a recovery room and that I have just come out of surgery.  How many times have they come to the aid of a bewildered patient?  How many times have they had to provide comfort and calm to a startled and rattled patient?

It takes only a few seconds for my station to become clear to me.   I now know where I am.  I know why I am here.  But there is still something very disconcerting…I can’t feel my legs.  The worst scenario creeps into my head…they fucked up!  I won’t be able to ride again, walk again, run… Fear, then anger builds inside of me, then it becomes fear again

I exclaim, “Nurse I can’t feel my legs I can’t wiggle my toes!”

Once again the calming voice comes to me and says,  “You had an epidural for your surgery.  You are awake from the general anesthesia but the epidural hasn’t worn off yet.”

I think to myself I will fight this and move my legs— but nothing.  I become frustrated.  I pass out.  Later I awake and try again.  I am frantic.

The nurse comes again and mollifies me, “relax, be patient it will wear off soon”.

I fought the nurse telling her I could beat the anesthesia.  They laughed at me of course.  But I came out fighting!

I remember her soothing demeanor.  I began to assess what I knew for sure.  I had had a bike accident, I fractured my femur, 24 hours later I checked into the hospital, I was then scheduled for emergency surgery, I was now in the recovery room.  Prior to the surgery I had this one preoccupying thought— I was starving….hmm…I’m not hungry now.  I have no idea what time it is but it must be late in the night or the wee hours of the next day.  I’m good now I have my bearings and my locus of control.

The nurse checks on me again.  I remember joking with her and calling her by the wrong name.  She took it in stride.  We took a picture…I can’t remember the picture being taken.

Recovery room nurse I can’t remember her name

When I got home I searched on YouTube for videos about my surgery. Isn’t YouTube amazing?  You can find virtually anything on there.  What is even more amazing is the body’s resilience and how it recovers from major trauma and the subsequent stress of surgery.

DISCLAIMER: THE FOLLOWING VIDEOS MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR YOUNG  VIEWERS OR THE SQUEAMISH

The first 40 seconds or so pertain to my injury

and here is the finished product

Hours pass and I am transported to my room on the 7th floor.  Honestly I don’t remember being conveyed through the labyrinth again.  I don’t remember anything that happened that night.  I assume my vitals were taken at some point throughout the night.  

The following morning I met Shannon.  She would be my nurse until I was discharged.  First order of business was breakfast.  The hospital wanted me to eat, bring my strength up, make me mobile, and begin my transition from recovery patient to discharged patient.  

I let the nurse place my breakfast order for me.  The menu options were the usual American style breakfast.  Being a creature of habit, I love my coffee in the morning but it wasn’t appetizing at all anything after that would be inconsequential.   Along with my coffee I like to eat a very light breakfast – whether it’s a 50 or 500 mile ride.  As soon as I start pedaling I begin taking in calories.  If I have breakfast it’s usually toast and peanut butter, or a small bowl of oatmeal, or a cup of Greek yogurt with honey and/or fresh berries or a Probar.   I prefer to eat light or not at all so I can get on the bike within an hour of waking up.  

Breakfast arrived and I couldn’t bear the smell of it.  The night before while waiting for surgery I was ravenous.  I fantasized of a big hearty meal …gluttony even.  But now I couldn’t lift the dome off of the main dish.  I pushed it aside.  I was nauseous.  My friends know me to always be hungry.

Two physical therapist came to visit.  My task, their task, was to make me mobile and get me to the bathroom.  I was presented with a walker.  A shocking reality came to me at that moment– I must be pretty jacked up!  If I needed a walker that meant I wasn’t going to be very mobile was I?  The PT’s were kind and helpful as they assisted me to move my recently operated leg off the bed.  They helped me up and instructed me how to take my first few steps.  All was good…for a few seconds and then…vertigo.  I was nauseous and spat up.  I motioned to the PT that I was sick she reached for a bucket and I began to vomit.  First dry heaves and then the retching became productive as I expelled a thick gooey substance.  How pitiful I must have looked to that PT.  Stabilized by only a walker, the rear of my hospital gown open, regurgitating into a bucket.  I was quite the example of a sickly and weak man. I was embarrassed, humiliated and apologized profusely that they had to see me this way.  Eventually, I reached the bathroom.  I stood over the toilet and tried to urinate but nothing came out.  I tried and tried was I experiencing a serious case of stage fright?  Little did I know that my biggest struggle for discharge had just begun.

Hours later I had my second PT visit.  The PT suggested we try a walk out into the hall.  Things went well as we past the threshold of my room.  The big expansive hallway was bright and inviting.  I made progress, albeit slowly and carefully, with no apparent direction.  My bike rides are the same.  I leave my home with a goal of a certain number of hours but no dedicated route.  Those first few miles I assess how I am feeling and then choose the routes to complement how I’m feeling.  If I feel flat and lacking power I take the coast, if my legs feel fresh and strong I take to the hills.

Here I was standing in the middle of the hallway to my right a long hallway, to my left a shorter walk with a massive and enticing window as a reward.  I told the PT we were going to the window to take a look outside.  Just about halfway, I became sick again.  I held it together long enough for the PT to run back to my and fetch a catch bucket.  Great… more humiliation but now in public view!  I emptied out the exiguous breakfast I had had earlier and gave the PT my bucket. Was this in her job description I wondered.  Again, I apologized as I tidied and steadied myself.

She said, “Let’s head back to the room that’s enough progress for today”

I countered, “No. We are going to the window.  That’s was the goal and the goal hasn’t changed.  You’re my wing-woman come on.”

Shortly after vomiting…again.  Are those helmet tan lines on my forehead?

We had a chuckle and I continued to shuffle – me and my walker and my IV machine.  As I reached the window I felt this huge sense of control again.  I had held off vomiting and had transported myself a good distance less than 12 hours post surgery.  While looking out to the surrounding hills the PT and I discussed my accident, my injury, my surgery, my expected recovery and so on.  I came to the realization that here in the hospital it didn’t matter whether you were a great athlete or a couch potato.  The staff was there to help you get well, recover and send you home to your loved ones.  But I couldn’t help remember a line from a movie.

“Here you are all equally worthless”

While I was up and around I decided to make another trip to the bathroom.  I still couldn’t pee. Nurse Shannon added a little more stress to my predicament if I couldn’t urinate I couldn’t go home.  I focused intently but nothing would come out. I was so frustrated.  How can a normal body function such as urinating take so much effort.

In the next segment the drama of not being able to void continues you won’t want to miss it…

Hospital Experience III here