Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Been there ... done that!

In the days since I last posted anything, I can honestly say I've thought about writing. I've had some ideas, but never made the effort to put fingers to keyboard. However, I have been knitting and have a bag full of almost 50 teeny tiny baby hats to send to Save the Children.

Today was one of those days spent sitting in hard, uncomfortable chairs in a hospital waiting room. Gratefully, it wasn't as long a day as it could have been. Any day, though, that starts before 7:30am is going to be a long one for me.

Dad had a tumor removed from his bladder. An aggressive cancer that will probably return. But at his age and with the condition of his heart, these cystoscopic surgeries are really the only treatment option.

I know Dad is the one who should be getting the sympathy, not me. However, in my normal it's-all-about-ME mentality I've got to say even though I signed on for this job, I just never figured I be on such intimate terms with my father's pecker. He's had this surgery before but in the same way a person experiences situational amnesia, I obviously blanked out any memory of catheter cleaning and changing. It came back to me as the nurse was giving me a mini- course in Foley maintenace how last time we went through this drill, I spilled pee all over Dad, me and the bathroom. There's a trick I'm sure I'll have to practice that keeps the pee from shooting out across the room as soon as tap is opened.

I know it's kind of rude to listen to conversations that take place on the other side of a hospital curtain. However, I couldn't help but perk up my ears when I heard a doctor say to his patient in the cubicle next to us, "I haven't done this procedure before, but I'll give it my best shot. If it doesn't work, I'll have to think of something else."

What????? He's never done it before? Is that appropriate doctor/patient conversation? I'm guessing the patient had already had some kind of sleepy juice as I did not see him get up and walk out as fast as his plastic-tred tube socks could carry him, his untied hospital gown flowing in the breeze.

I wonder, is it wrong to use another's misfortune to spur me on to writing again? Perhaps between pee emptying escapades I'll find some humorous tales to share.

Looking for my rubber gloves,
Merry ME

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