"Relax... and don't forget to breathe, OK?"

That is what the nurse said to me this morning as she prepped me for the "quick" procedure of removing the stent from inside my body. This stent, you'll recall, was inserted into the passageway between my kidney and bladder during the surgery I had last week.

I had been dreading this day since last week, but also was looking forward to it as well. Dreading it because I knew I would be awake when the doctor pulled the stent out. Looking forward to it so I could rid myself of this constant overwhelming urge to pee.

When they called me into the room that the procedure would be performed in, I shuddered. It seemed like a mini-operating room. The nurse had me sit down on a chair while she gave me an antibiotic and asked me some questions, including did I have to pee. I said no, thanks. Then she had me sign a form giving the doctor permission to perform this procedure. I readily and happily signed it.

She instructed me to remove all of my clothing from the waist down, save for my socks, and lie on the table *pointing to the table*, then to cover my mid-section with what looked like a large piece of two-ply toilet paper. She would come back in a few minutes to "prep" me, she said.

All the "prep" in the world would not - could never, have prepared me or will do justice to what followed.

As I lie on the semi cold table (was the table REALLY cold, or was I just freezin' from being nekkid from the waist down with such a flimsy thing covering me???) waiting for the nurse to arrive, I'm thinking, OK, I can do this no problem. Next thing I know she's come in the room, all business-like, removed my toilet paper and added a few more layers but with strategically placed holes in the middle of them.

Then she instructed me to put my hands behind my head so she could create "a sterile environment" by swabbing my _ with some orange goo and attaching some clippy thing to it. Then she pumps me full of some local anesthetic (WAY too little in my estimation) which she cheerily tells me I'll be glad I have. I naively nod and say OK, still not knowing the horror ahead.

She tells me that she'll be back in five minutes with the doctor so they can do the deed. Five minutes never lasted so long. Actually it turned out to be, I think, 20 minutes, as there was someone or something else the doctor had to see to first. Anyway, it seemed like forever.

While I'm waiting with nothing to do, hands behind my head, freezing my you know what off, I'm thinking: "Did they forget about me?" and "Am I ever going to get out of here alive?" and feeling like I REALLY did need to pee, now. But I couldn't get up to do so and probably wouldn't have been able to if I did. So I just lie there, with these thougts swirling around in my head and that sensation that I had to go.

FINALLY, the doctor and nurse reentered the room, apologizing for the delay, saying it was unavoidable. After some small talk the doctor did whatever he needed to do with his instrument thingy, inserting it inside my _.

The nurse reminded me to not forget about breathing, after which the doctor immediately said, "Are you ready?" as his arm, instrument in hand, came wooshing back behind his head.

WHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

The longest thirty seconds, minute (whatever) of pure pain and undescribable feeling followed.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!

"See, we're all done, now. That wasn't so bad, was it?" said the doctor as an evil grin took over his face. He put down his tool and headed for the door. On to the next victim, I thought.

I smiled (I think), said thank you and turned my attention to the nurse who unclipped the thingy from my _ and wiped it and that with two moist cloths. Then she had me sit up and showed me the stent which she pulled from the trash can, so I could see what it looked like. Then she dropped it back into the trash can and pointed to the toilet, suggesting strongly that I try to pee. Then she said I could get dressed and leave. No one would bother me and I could take as much time as I liked.

"Wonderful." was the only intelligent thing I could think of to say, and I mumbled it out loud as she closed the door behind her.

As I sat on the hopper, willing myself to pee in an area I could still not feel nor control, I noticed a box of white rubber gloves in a rack on the wall two feet in front of me. There were other things in the rack of course, but seeing the gloves got me thinking...

Ladies, I can probably say with authority that the sensation of this all would be entirely different for you, but none the less traumatic to be sure.

Guys, do you want to know what it felt like?

No?

Too bad, I'm going to tell you anyway, since it's my blog and you've read this far...

Picture a little white and blue rubber snake, 14 1/4" long by 1/16" wide, with curls on either end suddenly and forcefully being whipped out of a tube not much larger than the width of the snake itself. At the same time, picture this tube attached to your body, with all of the nerves alive, well and functioning properly.

As for the sensation, well, let's just say I'll leave THAT up to your imagination.

My advice: Do what I'm now going to do, which would be drink lots of water to flush your body and prevent yourself (myself) from having to go through this (again).

After I left the medical building, it was about 10:30. I had been there for almost two hours. The next three hours was pure hell for me, as I felt the need to glue myself to the toilet for the rest of the day, because I still felt the pain, pressure and need to pee but felt like I couldn't control it. (Fortunately I did but it didn't feel that way at the time.)

But I muttered through it, doing some errands in between going back to my apartment for lunch, so I could go home and feel squidgy in private for the rest of the day. Which I did and was.

And that was how my morning went.

What was my brilliant thought, you ask? Well, see for yourself.



No, I'm not keeping it as a souvenir. That would be gross, never mind extremely unsanitary. Photographic proof is all I need to go along with the memories...

Trust me on this, ok?