Thursday, October 16, 2008

Potty Problems

Tomorrow morning (Friday the 17th), at 11:45, I am to report to my urologist, Doctor Potty, to have a TUMT for my BPH.

Naw, too acronymish. I sound like someone from the Dept. of Homeland Insecurity.

I’ll try it again. I am to report to my urologist, Doctor Potty, to have Trans Urethral Microwave Thermotherapy for my Benign Prostatic Hyperlplase.

How’s that? Yeah, way too doctorish.

Okay, okay, I’ll say it in English, but don’t get angry at me if you’re squeamish. As far as I’m concerned, there aren’t enough good squeams around anymore and they’re good for you—they make you appreciate that it is I and not you going through this shit.

In a nutshell (har) my prostate gland, which is normally the size of a walnut, is now the size of a golf ball. The larger it gets the harder (har) it is to pee; the prostate, you see, is choking the crap out of my urethra, so the best I can do is dribble a little at a time. Very little, and about a hundred times a day (and night). Well, not a hundred, but enough to be a real pain in the ass (har).

So the Doc and his assistant are going to burn a bunch of tissue off the prostate with microwaves, thus making it possible to pee normally again. The Assistant
Isn’t that something? Boy, I can hardly wait: they’re going to stick a catheter, the microwave probe, and a balloon up my schwantz, while a camera is going up my rectal area so they can see what the hell they’re doing. The balloon? Well, that’s a high-tech safety valve: if there’s too much heat it’ll bust.

Huh. I wonder who’s going to blow up the safety valve.

Just a little more FYI. They only use local anesthetics because I have to be awake to detect pain. The first local is the fun one: right on the tip of my aforementioned schwantz so the roadies can move all the equipment into my bladder. And don’t forget the enema I have to do in the privacy of my own bathroom; without one, I suspect they may get some pretty shitty pictures on their camera.

At least the post-op poop sheet they gave me is encouraging. The very first line says, verbatim:

Expect to get worse before you get better!

What a kidder that Doc Potty is.

It also says no sex for two weeks or more. I will bet the last 15¢ in Martha’s retirement fund that she doesn’t have one headache for the next two weeks or more.

But the hell with Martha and sex and blood and catheters and all the rest of it because I want my mommy.

[Continue to Potty Problems, the Sequel.]


Mel said...

Oh, sweetheart.

Attila The Mom said...

Well at least you can ask Martha to kiss it and make it all better. LOL

I'll be thinking of you and your schwantz!


Kim Ayres said...

Just make sure you get a copy of what the cameras are filming so you can ost it on YouTube

kim said...

Lovely dahling ... you really know how to have a good time I tell ya!

*bigg hugs*

Charlie said...

MEL & KIM: I love it when you ladies hug me, and I'll take all I can get.

MOM: MOM! What a potty mind! Thinking about Prong isn't very nice, but then again, you aren't my real mommy so go ahead.

KIM AYRES: I may be on YouTube, but as long as my "head" doesn't show I don't care.

Katrina said...

I'm starting to picture you as perpetually in your underpants. You know, always at the ready.

All kidding aside....I enjoy be able to pee without issue so I'm glad you're getting closer to having that ability, too.

Look at that book list!! Holy cow! I've got some serious catching up to do!!


Charlie said...

You are more than welcome to picture me in my undies, which are boxers with tasteful designs on them.

And thank you for your kind thought—I am ecstatic to know that you have no peeing issues.

By the way, lady, do I know you?

Koolio said...

It always hurts before it gets better. Not that I would know for sure since I don't have a peener neener but I'm just going by any other injury I've ever had.

I hope you're peeing more smoothly these days!