Or this…
Not quite either, actually, for there was some good news and
some bad.
The surgeon explained to me that damage to the bladder is
not uncommon in kidney operations because the lining of the urinary tract
extends from the top of the kidney to the tip of… the other bit at the other
end. It appears that I have suffered no such misfortune. My bladder, it
appears, is quite undamaged.
But then came the ‘ah, but…’ moment. There’s always an 'ah,
but…’ moment. There has been at almost every stage of this damnable business
and today was no exception. It seems there’s a clip inside my bladder – presumably a
relic of the operation – and it shouldn’t be there. I’m told that it’s probably
the cause of my persistent UTI which four courses of antibiotics have failed to
fully clear up, and if it’s left in situ it will probably develop a stone
(whatever one of those is, but it sounds painful) in time. So it has to be
removed, which means I have to have another operation accompanied by certain of
the nasties which are generally consequent upon procedures in that part of the
anatomy. Oh, joy. And it’s considered fairly urgent which means that the
operation will probably be some time next week. Oh joy of joys.
But still, the experience did offer the odd compensation or
two. Since the anaesthetic was a local one I was wide awake, so I got to see
the inside of an operating theatre for the first time. It wasn’t very
prepossessing. It looked like a school classroom with a few bits of high tech
gadgetry dotted about and some fancy ceiling lights. But it was still fun to
see it from the patient’s position. In fact, I jabbered so much that the
surgeon had to tell me to shut up so he could concentrate.
Other Notable Compensations:
One of the theatre nurses was Chinese! And I noticed that
the type of pyjamas worn by theatre nurses show off the waggling of the bottom
far better than the dresses which the ward nurses are rigged out in. And my
minder nurse was a lovely young Polish woman called Marlena who had the most
splendid tattoo on her upper arm. The subtle tonal variations were quite
breathtaking. And she didn’t seem to have much else to do so she kept me
company nearly the whole time, talking about Brexit, tattoos, and the effect female
nurses can have on inadequate men who are scared stiff of hospitals. And the
cheese and onion sandwich I bought for my lunch wasn’t quite as expensive as I
thought it would be.
But no doubt tomorrow the prospect of another operation will
begin to bite and gain strength as the intervening days go by. And I shall
begin to wonder again: how will all his end? Will it be this…
Or this…
Or even this…
I have no way of knowing yet, so if I go quiet again over the next week please indulge
me.
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