nic piper
nic piper

tales from the board

All shook up.

Let's just start this by saying that if you're a chap and you own a penis of some variety (in your trousers or just pickled in a jar on the mantle) and you're reading this then it might not be so easy going.  I'll go into detail but not lots.  Ok, let's set the scene a bit...

I don't swear at nurses. No one should swear at nurses, that's a rule.  I think it's in the Magna Carta (under the bit about 'no ball games'), The Bill of Rights (after 'don't blow everybody up') and engraved on an ancient Mayan tablet (before '2012? Nah, we were joking about that!').  I think people who swear at nurses or who are generally not very nice to them should be made to do their job for a day, or just an hour maybe...

I've got this recording of Elvis singing live in Memphis in 1974 and it's great.  It's not the 'spazzy legs' period of Elvis or the 'wardrobe trying his best to act' era but neither is it the 'looks like a cushion stuffed with vaseline' stage.  It's the good live, chunky but not gassed bit of Elvis and it's a great recording.  I listen to it a lot.

I went into hospital to have my gravelly kidney cleansed with lasers this week.  Turns out i've been off balance because I've been harbouring a stone the size of The Death Star inside my right kidney for most of this year.  Fab.  Popped in to the day ward to get zapped and all went well!  My kidney is now cleaner than Cliff Richard's internet history.  I mean, it's not the most pleasant way to spend a Wednesday as there's only really one way in to your kidney, you know?  They had to go in and out a few times to retrieve a stent then replace it and to generally scrape things out so as you can imagine everything was a bit...stingy? Yeah, we'll go with stingy.

The old chap in the bed opposite me, Scotty, wasn't entirely sure where he was or what was going on.  We've had a bit of experience with that recently as you'll know if you've read a couple of posts on this site.  Not really sure what had caused Scotty's vagueness or anything much about him really.  I knew he had a nice Durham accent that reminded me of home and that he couldn't remember very much about very much.  It's a urinary ward and any little infection in the waterworks can send anyone bonkers let alone an elderly gent in ill fitting jim jams.  He was content but not really there.

Being recorded in Memphis I reckon Elvis was playing to his home crowd as he does a fair few gospel tracks and keeps the oldies to a minimum.  A couple of tracks into this CD Elvis sings 'All Shook Up', just a short version, It's great.

A few hours after my op I decided to go for a wee.  Not much happened.  Probably a trick of the mind due to the rather busy op.  A few hours later I was desperate for a wee but still couldn't go.  Not just desperate but in pain and nothing was happening!  Had it broken? Had the old boy finally gone on strike?  They took a scan and found there was 850ml in there just waiting to hit the pan.  I didn't really understand why it wasn't working.  I understood very clearly when, for the next HOUR an excellent Doctor tried his best to catheterise me.  Yes, an hour and no, half of that wasn't 'looking for it'.  Catheter first, then a guide wire, then a catheter and a guide wire.  He explained that there was a stricture due to the amount of traffic that had been up there during the day, bruising or closing of passages and whatnot.  The sweat was pouring down my fore...head and I was swearing in the direction of a nurse (not at a nurse) a lot.  No sedation, no local anaesthetic.  Then he muttered the words that may haunt my dreams from years to come; "fetch the camera".  I'd like to see him try and get it developed. 

We're now half way through. Quarter to one in the morning.  Doctor Dick is trying more combinations of wires, catheters and cameras, I'm lying back on the bed sweating, dehydrated, swearing, almost crying, eye's rolling back in pain. i'm busy trying not to watch the horror show happening in my special place when just as I thought it couldn't get worse; "Well bless my soul, what's wrong with me? I'm itching like a man on a fuzzy tree..."

Scotty remembered all of the lyrics and accompanied the rest of my clammy nighttime ordeal until I was rapidly emptying my bladder down a tube without even knowing it.  Bliss.  Or piss.  One of those.

I'm at home now, stone free but weeing into a bag, Scotty is hopefully feeling better and has moved onto Jailhouse Rock and that Doctor has probably earned himself a lifetime ban from Snappy Snaps.

I now find myself skipping that song.

More soon. x


nic piperComment