What, No Cigarette?

So I had this little "procedure" yesterday, which basically involved the spelunking of my pee hole. And yes, if you can imagine one of the most unpleasant and undignified experiences one might endure in a doctor's office, while awake, then that would be an accurate mental picture ... to which you would then need to add the sensation of someone shooting a bolus of lidocaine into a hole that, up until now, had only been a one-way orifice ... and then, just for grins, make note the perfect stranger wiping off your hoo ha. Are we having fun yet? At that juncture, I felt that someone needed to buy me dinner or at least share a cigarette. But all I got was a wad of Kleenex for post prod blotting and (maybe?) a sympathetic eyebrow. Hmf.

I wonder if modern medicine will ever evolve to the point where patient dignity is any kind of a factor in quality care. I mean seriously. When the nurse has to leave to go fetch something, thereby putting the procedure in a holding pattern, engaging in idle chit chat whilst splayed out like a pithed frog is just awkward. Could I get a drape here? Maybe a paper towel or a hanky? Do you have to sit right THERE on your little rolly stool to talk to me? Really?

Here’s a partial conversation that occurred while the doctor was poking around with her "little" camera.

Her: "You’re urethra is pretty tight, especially at the top, I’m having trouble even getting the camera through."

Me: (through gritted teeth). "Yeah ... I know!"

Her: "Relax."

Me: (Exhaling, because I just realized I had been holding my breath, so I sounded like I had just taken a huge bong hit, which, come to think of it, I am totally going to do if I have to go through this again) "What is that, urology humor?"

Her: (laughing) "Yeah, I guess it is."

Then, as long as we were all prepped and, you know, in the position and all, she thought it might be prudent to DILATE my urethra. Yes, that sounds as breathtaking as it really is. Not as painful as you might think, just Gaaaa! WTF?! And the unnerving CLANKING of what I assume were dilating wands (Expecto Urethra!) that sounded like Craftsman wrenches.

It's possible my eye sockets will never return to their normal size – time will tell.

The only small consolation is that, while I was in the waiting room, I realized that for ONCE, the men in there were likely going to have a much less pleasant experience than I was. Justice? I dunno.

I should add, when all was said and done, the whole deal (cystoscopy and dilation would be the technical jargon I think) wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. Not much worse than a pelvic exam discomfort-wise, though a bit longer in duration. A little more explanation on what the hell was happening and reassurance that I was not going to experience searing pain at any moment would have helped. To say I was TENSE would be an understatement. Also, the internet said that a flexible scope would NOT require stirrups, and THE INTERNET LIED.

(What sick masochistic fuckwad invented stirrups anyway?)

As long as we’re sharing TMI, I will also add that peeing (post spelunking), feels like it might if you put a bunch of red hots in your bladder, did a little hula dance and then shot the now flaming stream of smokin’ hot pee out of your actual body. But AZO took care of that.

The good news? I can now pee almost like a racehorse. The bad news? I might have to go back in September for another round. Anybody got a bong I can borrow?


P.S. Don't ever have your doctor call a prescription in (get the damn paper copy) to Target, because Target pharmacy hours are NOT useful to anyone who might actually drive in real traffic and/or work for a living, which makes NO SENSE, since it's only the working poor who might actually have insurance, because then you will have to call the doctor on call and explain to him what just happened as you sit panicked in the Target parking lot, knowing for sure that bacteria are invading your bladder at that very moment if you don't get your antibiotic RIGHT NOW, so then you have to explain the whole fucking situation to the harried pharmacist at Walgreens, who is literally talking on two phones at once while she fills pill bottles and types on a computer, that she has to call the number for this answering service scrawled here on the back of a Target coupon and ask them to page the doctor so he can direct the harried pharmacist to fill a partial prescription for TWO PILLS (?!) to get you through the day until you can get the rest of your antibiotic from Target the next day...but not until 9 a.m. in the fucking morning, because they don't open until NINE!!! And for the record, the emergency script was for half-strength pills (WTH?), so now I'm probably still going to die of an infection despite my best efforts. Fucking Target.