Guest Posts: Dick's Surgery Instalment Four

I know I've kept you waiting a long time for more from Mr Finchley, and that has been cruel of me. Well, wait no longer! Here's part four!

DICK’S SURGERY

Instalment Four, The First Night and Next Day

My hopes for a restful sleep were trashed. From the other side of the curtain: “Snark-k-k, brlf-f-f, grblrkrik, corfburble, some gentle murmuring, then suddenly HACK KAFF,” and many other original sounds totally breaking up the quiet night and all hope I might have had for rest.

“Ding ding ding,” sounded an alarm.

“He’s pulled it out,” someone shouted. “He won’t lie still enough to get it back in.” “Someone get the doctor from emerg.” “Hold him down!” More discussion, more flailing of arms and knocking over bedside articles, more snorting, snoring, hacking and shouting of orders through the night.

I managed to drop off to sleep around 06:00, awakening around 08:00 to hear the staff trundling my roomie’s bed, with him in it, to the next room. Things were looking up—I thought.

Shift change.

The reason for the constant tugging on little Dick I had felt the night before became clear as I pulled back the covers. Hanging from the end of my manhood was a tube that fed a bag attached to the bars on the bed. “Oh dear,” I thought, “this can’t be good.”

My despair was interrupted by nurse Nadia. “I see you’ve found your urinary assistant. With any kind of luck, you won’t need the catheter tomorrow. By the way, after I pull it out, I expect you to pee 200 mL within a few hours.”

“Or else?” I thought.

“Or else,” reading my mind, “I’ll have to re-insert the catheter and drain your bladder—and continue doing that until you can pee yourself.” Well, that’s all I needed to hear to drive me further into despair. “Also,” as she left the room, “I expect you to have a bowel movement soon.”

A tasteless breakfast was followed by more pills, more discomfort down south, a tasteless lunch and, to my relief, a visit from that angel of mercy, Mrs. Dick, with a thermos of real coffee. Just her tender presence was all I needed for support and to lessen my fears. More emptying of the wound drain and urine collectors before I got a break.

“I’m Vana from physio. Let’s get that leg moving.” This from a muscular young Ukrainian girl as she towered over the tiny Mrs. Dick. I flipped back the covers.

With surprising gentleness, she took me through the exercises I had to do over the next week or two. Such weakness; such pain. A short walk down the hall, my delicate flower on one side, Vana on the other with a firm grasp on my waist, and my walker in the middle, provided enough exercise to perk me up a bit. And so the day dragged on until evening. My dearest went tearily home and I was left alone, hopefully waiting for the relief of sleep, and mulling over in my mind the challenges still facing me.

More to come!