The Twelve Days of Catheter. (December 17 – 29, 2010)
Okay, so the diagnosis happened, the pre-op happened, then surgery happened and now… The Catheter Days. This may be the too-much-information post that you’ve been dreading so beware…
I must say, right from the outset, that now those days are behind me and like so many other things connected with medical procedures… the anticipation was worse than the reality. (In some ways)
Ask any man what he would think about having a hose running from his bladder, down his urethra and out through his penis into a sack and the likelihood is that you wouldn’t even get a response. He would most likely be waving his hands up and down and possibly gagging as he tried to get you to stop talking about it. This was the case with me after I found out that the catheter was going to be an inevitable result of prostate surgery. And that the catheter would remain, in my case, from Dec. 16th until its removal on the 29th.
The good news is that the catheter is put in while you’re unconscious. The bad news is that it comes out when you’re not. In between, the situation varies.
On the First Day of Catheter, as I stated in my last blog, upon arriving home we found out immediately that blood clots were going to be a factor. They are the beavers of the blood stream and can dam you up very well. The clots can either be quite old and may have lived in your bladder for some time, or they can come from the bleeding that results from the surgery, where they have re-attached the urethra (that used to run through the prostate) back to the bladder. Judging by the bright red, Christmassy kind of colour mine were, I believe they were new. Blood clots can also bring on a pain that you never knew was possible… bladder spasms.
Chances are that if you have spasms during your hospital stay you will probably have them at home. Of course, as in my case, not having them in hospital doesn’t mean you won’t have them at home.
The daily process is thus… Before bed I attach the night-bag (a hefty, large volume bag) to the outlet spigot on my catheter hose. This bag sits on the floor by my bed and I am pretty much relegated to sleeping on my back. (Brooke has been relegated to sleeping on the sun-room bed for the duration of the catheter days, as much for her own safety as mine. Having said that, it would mostly be my hard luck if a sudden turn at night yanked the hose out... In the morning I make my way to the bathroom with the hose and bag and then switch over to the smaller daytime bag which is strapped to my upper thigh. Then I dump the bag contents, wash the bag out and clean myself up. During the day I will probably have to change the leg-bag a couple of times.
It’s amazing how quickly you can get used to something and after a few days I was quite comfortable with it all. In fact, it’s a positive boon for watching a three-hour football game. You can drink beer or whatever and not miss a second of the action. I understand from a friend that certain amongst the more depraved of the casino inmates actually keep catheters in voluntarily so that they won’t have to give up their spots at the slot machines before they pay off. Ah, humanity, a proud and noble species.
And so, this is Christmas… It was mostly about urine and opening presents. We had put up a tree and did our decorating before the surgery date, and so also with the present buying. We had let the relatives know that we wouldn’t be going around doing the family thing this year and instead, had a lovely Christmas eve by ourselves and had Dungeness Crab with Bay Rub (one of our favourites and if you haven’t tried it you’re missing out) We opened presents, sat next to the video-fireplace on the big screen and listened to music. Brooke got me a PlayStation 3 to help me pass the time during the next few weeks. This she would come to regret to some degree as the first game I bought was Saboteur, a game in which you, as an Irish saboteur in Nazi-occupied Paris, are charged with the task of liberating the French. You do this by blowing things up mostly. Around January 2, I am forced to wear headphones or only attack things with weapons that have silencers attached to them.
The days following Christmas are a bit of a blur now. The blood clots became more of an issue and the bladder spasms happened a bit more often and for longer periods. Then the 12th Day of Catheter arrived and with it, Extraction Day. As if to remind me of my ultimate mortality, (and truly this is now bordering on boringly repetitive), fate decided to give me a going-away present on the day that my catheter was to be removed. In the morning a series of clots after I had risen (the worst time for this) resulted in a bladder spasm that Saddam might have described as the Mother of all bladder spasms. My Irish Saboteur could have taken down the Eiffel Tower with this one.
The pain was so intense that I almost passed out and it wouldn’t stop. As much as I wanted to suffer it in silence (because Brooke was home and about) I couldn’t and as much as I was preoccupied with the shafts of fire traveling up and down my lower areas, I was also fascinated with the sounds that I was making. If only I had a tape-recorder going, I thought at one point, I could get a lot of money for this. At one point though, I thought that I would go mad and I actually hit my head against the wall a few times just like they do in the movies. After about a half-hour the pain started to subside and as quickly and unexpectedly as it came it departed. I got dressed properly and went out into the hall. Brooke was sitting on the floor, pale, with her arms around her knees and leaning against the hallway wall. “Sorry for that,” I said. “That’s okay,” she replied, weakly. I don't think it was.
Then we put on our coats and went to the hospital. The nurse that greeted us turned out to be the one that was going to remove the tube. I had thought that maybe we might see a doctor at this point, but no. I was ushered into a ward where one other man lay in a bed. He was having a conversation with his wife or something about the upcoming procedures (pre-op) and still had the catheter to experience. He was nervous about it. I smiled to myself, knowingly. The nurse put me on a bed and pulled the curtains around it. I removed my lower clothes and got ready. The nurse, who had gone out for a moment, re-entered. I asked Brooke to leave the area which she did willingly. The bag and spigot was removed. I was told to breathe deeply. The nurse took one end of the hose and… well, the feeling is hard to describe. Not so much painful as weird. Well, a little of each actually, but a great relief and it was out and that was the end of that. We had brought some continence (or lack thereof) products with us. I put one in place; we went to the car and came home… Later I would think of that man lying in the other bed contemplating what was to come and I sighed a sigh for him. Soldier on, my brother. Soon Paris will be ours.
And that was the Spirit of Catheter Past.
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