Last Summer.

Last summer I was living and enjoying my life. Working at a job I enjoyed, and being well paid. There was a drawback with this job however, which I will get to later. I was just content with my state of health, never in my life having any major issues. Never had been a patient in hospital.

   I was happy enough, having a few alcoholic drinks a week, and plenty of junk food. But also trying to keep it healthy, food wise, when I could be bothered.

       My sex life was okay, but also included some anal play, which I believe was the start of my troubles.

        After indulging in the latter, I woke up the next day, and found when I urinated it strung, a stinging irritation. Not something I had ever encountered before.

  Left it for a day or two, then contacted the Doctor by phone, who prescribed some antibiotic, Plexay, or something like that. A six day course, which I completed, but was not feeling much better. In fact feeling a lot worse.

  Mainly unable to urinate at all, by this stage, and when I did manage to urinate what came out of the urine channel, was red, mucky gunk, and my groin seemed very sick to look at.

         To leave my room and go down the one flight of stairs, to get some fresh water, seemed like one of the hardest journeys of my life. I was gripping the wall as I staggered down, and verbally encouraging myself.

                                                        Having retrieved some fresh water, I was faced with the ordeal of returning upstairs to my bedroom. Not a prospect I relished, but had to be done, and I did so. Being unable to urinate by this stage, and my belly feeling very full, a retired nurse of my acquaintance phoned and insisted I call an ambulance straight away.

              I was very hesitant to do so, as I did not believe I was very unwell, and did not feel that unwell, with an obvious headache, or stomach ache. I did not really want to bother hospital emergency staff unless it was a really serious issue. I did call for an ambulance shortly afterward under protest, and an ambulance, and a second paramedic car pulled up to the house.

                                       Out tumbled five paramedics, advanced paramedics, and one or two trainees, with all their medical gear. I was sitting on a chair on the landing at this stage, after some consultation between the paramedics next thing I was been carried down the stairs in a wheelchair, and taken into the back of the ambulance. All rather surprising to myself.

               The journey to the emergency department seemed to take forever, even though it was only a thirty minute stroll down the road. Why were there no sirens, 

 I wanted to ask, are the blues lights flashing, I also wanted to know, just for the record……But I never asked, it just didn’t seem appropriate, somehow.

                     In there I was given Ketamine, among other drugs, and taken into the emergency dept. A catheter was inserted, didn’t feel it, thanks to the drugs I had been given. A high dependency unit was considered, by the medical staff as I ended up with eGFR of 4%, severe AKI,(Acute Kidney Injury),  Uroseppis,  severe urinary retention, and was offered the services of a Priest. Never a good sign !

      During my two months as a hospital patient, as I recovered, with nephrostomy’s were inserted  in both kidneys. Main causes, BHP (Enlarged Prostate) and toxic chemicals permeating the air next to my place of employment in the heavy industrial area of the local port. After much reading I now understand the medical and environmental issues that caused my AKI(Acute Kidney Injury).

                   I have had the nephrostomys in place for nearly nine months, and at this stage I am sick of the sight of them. Feeling like  Frankinstein’s monster. What woman would find that attractive, or acceptable when it comes to frolicking between the sheets. They are just very unwelcome encumbrances now. 

                      Had a cystoscopy last month. That was an interesting afternoon ! I went from initially refusing to have it done, the very idea, to desperately wanting it done as soon as possible.It was not at all as brutal as portrayed by the comments on the YouTube videos. It at least put my mind at rest, what with all the publicity regarding Charles, head of the English royal family and his cancer diagnosis, it was a relief to get it done, and to find out what was happening there. An enlarged prostate was confirmed as the main source of my troubles.

                    At my follow appointment after my discharge I was quite excited, to at last be getting rid of these ugly tubes and especially the urine bags.

The Professor’s manner was somber, when I entered his small grey office, although he did shake my hand. I had continually and resolutely refused a ’Turp’ procedure which the medical staff had consistently suggested I have, during my hospital stay.

Not too long into the conversation the Professor shifted away from scanning my test results onscreen, and looked me in the eye.

‘It’s only a matter of time before you’re back in here with us, on dialysis, possibly a transplant’.

This now was not at all what I was expecting, nor hoping for.

It’s only a matter of time,’ the professor reiterated.

   I had heard him the first time, and did not need a second remainder. I never particularly liked the man, with his sour demeanor, even less so now.

‘How are you getting on with the tubes in your kidneys’, he ventured.

 ‘I would quiet like to have the tubes removed from my kidneys now,’ I returned.

  ‘Well he said, if you learn intermittent catheterization, we can do that. Let me call one of the urology nurses to show you how to do that.’

    An appointment was arranged for the following week, with the urology nurse, unfortunately it was not the nurse I had met in the Professor’s office the previous week, as I quiet fancied her, and would have no objection to her manipulating my groin.

       Instead I was greeted at my appointment by a not very pleasant nurse in her thirties, and had a strong feeling the meeting was not going to go well, and it didn’t ! We chatted, and then she studied my medical notes on her computer screen,

‘Your creatinine level reached 3000’.

I said nothing, but knew she lied, God only knows why. Having read all my medical reports, and everything to do with my hospital stay, I knew the truth. My creatinine was 1025 at its highest. Still high enough and concerning. I don’t like being lied to, who does.

This set the rather negative, unpleasant tone for the meeting. She then proceeded to the cabinet and retrieved a rigid  like stick device, with an arrow like tip, approx twelve inches in length, and explained that I  was to be insert this stick into my urinary channel three to four times a day, and I was to prod my bladder with the said stick, to release the urine. The very idea !

             That certainly knocked the wind out of my sails. However, having quickly regained my composure I firmly assured her I had absolutely no intention whatsoever of carrying out such a sadistic maneuver, not only once, but up to four times a day. 

                                    I briefly contemplated the sadist who ever came up with such an idea in the first place, and concluded his mind must indeed be very warped, and sick.

‘No, I am certainly not doing that’.

‘Well then your wasting my time here’, she responded coldly.

I left her office shortly after, and was glad to get away from her, and her mad ideas. as she wrote up her notes for the Professor. I considered how a woman who acts like such a bitch, pursues a position in a healing institution, such as a hospital. To that question, I am still at a loss.

As it stands I still have both nephrostomy’s, and stage 3B kidney disease and am trying to heal myself by complementary methods, non inflammatory foods, trying reflexology currently, as I don’t fancy any operation, so will have to see how we go.

                               But I am hopeful as I see many others have recovered from kidney disease, and managed to reduce prostate size. 

                                                                                That was my summer last year..

                                                                                                                            06-04-2024.

The Doctor.

Photo by Natanael Melchor on Unsplash

The Doctor.

She never fully understood why her mother hated her so. Was it jealousy ,envy, or a woman travelling through her own troubled psychological and spiritual world. But ever since she could remember her mother had told her many, many times, she was no good. That no man would ever want her, or find her attractive. The attacks became more frequent, cutting and corrosive as Jennifer’s youth vitality,and beauty began to emerge. As she moved from child to teenager to womanhood.

              Looking back on her childhood from the perspective of a mature adult, she reflected that perhaps her mother had being on her own tortuous journey through life, and was a troubled soul, as she had come to learn only those who had been hurt themselves, tried to hurt others. The poisonous seeds of destruction had long since being sown in Jennifer’s mind, and spirit ,and over many years had seeped deep into her soul, to fester for evermore.

                She arrived at her residence from yet another exhausting 14 hour day. Tired beyond belief, she slowly unlocked the gate that led into her recently purchased apartment. Ignoring the bright summer day, that others were so enjoying. She moved slowly toward her apartment. Too tired to laugh or smile anymore, she let herself into her empty apartment. Empty of happiness and joy. Devoid of passion for her career. Empty of love.

         Had she the energy, she would have slammed the door, and thrown her purchases onto the floor, with her self entitled rage. She carried these poisonous feelings with her everywhere, and everyday. They became more pronounced when tired, she managed to hide them somewhat at her work, but not fully. Her colleagues had come to know her as ‘tetchy, brusque, brutal and off hand’. To some she was a brilliant surgeon, of that there was no doubt, but her interactions with others, be they patients or colleagues, left a lot to be desired
       She  would have gladly swapped her intelligence, and skill as a surgeon, to be more attractive. Many evenings alone in her apartment cradling the glass of red wine, that had become a very comfortable and faithful companion, where she sat and brooded and raged at God. Fully believing that she was unattractive and would never find happiness with a loving partner. But it was all in her own mind.

               She was physically an appealing woman, with her long auburn hair, slim petite figure, and gracious movements. Although her austere and seriousness persona, may have being off putting to some. It was attractive to a certain sort of intelligent man.

                                    Greatly upset and angered by her perceived lack of attractiveness she had gotten into the habit of comparing herself unfavorably to other women, everywhere. How much thinner than her they were. How their skin was clearer. How much prettier they were, in her own mind. How happier they seemed, as they lived off their looks. She had come to despise and detest these other woman, and they prettier and happier they seemed. They more hatred she began to feel for them, especially at this time of the year, in the warm sunshine, when they looked even more striking. With their eye catching clothing, revealing more of their bodies. Turning men’s heads wherever they went. The better these women looked the more angry she became. She so wanted to make them hurt, to make them pay, someway, somehow.

         She finished her first glass of wine, knowing that she was not going to stop until the last drop was emptied from the bottle. It had become a nightly ritual for her now. To help assuage and calm her bitterness and rage. But there was little chance of avoiding her feelings, which came back like a wild storm every moment she was awake. She had become a wretched individual. Her colleagues did not like her anymore. Her family could no longer understand her, and her obsession with her looks and attractiveness
                At least she did have her work, which was some very little compensation to her.

It was the Tuesday morning she was scheduled to perform the operation. As she scrubbed up in the changing area, putting on the light blue uniform of the surgeon, washing her hands and foreman’s all the way up to her elbows, while one of the young student nurses, helped her, by attending to her latex gloves as she held her arms aloft. The operating theatre was a brightly lit room, with all the necessary attributes required to carry out the surgery. With the different scalpels, the surgical saw, that would have not looked out of place in a brutal builders tool bag, and other surgical instruments laid out neatly on the small wheeled trolley next to the bed. The white tiled walls and floor, easy to clean. The fresh scent of disinfectant, a familiar but at times overpowering fragrance to her. More akin to a torture chamber, and the instruments of death, to those not familiar, nor a frequent visitor to such place.
                  Her operating colleagues entered the theatre shortly after. She glowered at them each in turn, with a stern, unsmiling face. They a long time since given up trying humour and banter with her, as it would not work. It had worked on her in the early days, but now they had concluded among themselves she was now a changed person, and not a very nice person. Many would not have being here, had they not being scheduled by the hospital administrators. Work was work, and money was money. That was the attitude many had come to take. Looking to get the operation over, to do what they had to do, and to leave her company as soon as possible. The orderly switched on the classic musical, as she had always insisted. The calming strains of the cello concerto filled the white tiled operating theatre, as they awaited the arrival of the patient.

The orderlies wheeled in the patient, on the bed from the ward. She was still conscious. Looking scared, as is understandable. The orderlies joked with the young woman, trying to calm and ease her mind. She looked at the patient, and her fists clenched, the chemical concoction in her stomach started up.  The tightness in her chest and around her heart, palatable. She could feel the veins from her shoulders down along her forearms and into her hands and fingers tighten, and release internally, in her anger. Her jaw tightened and jutted out, her teeth clenched together hard, making her jaw become very square. Her eyes narrowed into spears and daggers, weapons of destruction. As she viewed the clear skin, the large blue eyes, the healthy shine of her hair. The voluptuous body plainly visible beneath the sheets. The friendly warm attitude, and easy smile, even under such circumstances. She noted how the men in the room, were taken with this young striking woman. She knew how they’d fawn and fall for her, given even a chance. Willing to fall in love with her, no matter what type of person she was. To forgive her everything, and shower her with gifts of love, forgiveness, wealth and more, just because of the way she looked.

     Something she had never experienced herself. She concluded how foolish, shallow and empty men were. But she still yearned for a man of her own. Some man to tell her how beautiful she was. How special she was. Some man to focus all his loving attention on her. She introduced herself to the striking young woman, trying hard to hide her envy, and jealousy, but not winning. She found no need to be overly civil to her, and relayed perhaps in more detail than was necessary the procedures she was about to perform. She continued to explain how she would make an incision with the large scalpel, which she held up in front of the patient. She explained how she would cut two inches into the woman’s stomach, just above the waistline, and from there move upwards into her breast bone area. Perhaps having to use the surgical saw, to access organs that lay beneath the breast bone. The more she spoke she could see how fearful and afraid the young woman was becoming, and she so enjoyed the feeling of power, she began to feel slightly light headed with it all. She concluded her chat with the patient by further explaining generally speaking, and letting these words hang in the air, purposefully, it was a reasonably safe procedure.

    Giddy with the power to cause such fear and suffering she asked the nurse to bring her a glass of water and a chair, waiting for her composure to return.

As she sat and waited for her composure to return. She wondered was God, or life at last coming on her side. Presenting her with such an opportunity, and there were sure to be other opportunities. So many future opportunities, so many choices and methods, to inflict damage and destruction up to any level she choose, even an agonising death, if she so wished. A chance of revenge. A little well overdue payback. Who would ever know. Of course a scalpel could slip. The wrong vein or artery could be cut. Millions of operations a year all over the world. These things can and do happen. An overworked exhausted surgeon trying their best to help the sick and dying. Patients die and get mutilated on operating tables all the time. Who would ever know, or be able to outright accuse her. Her colleagues watched astounded as, for the first time in years  a broad smile gently broke out on her face. Her eyes brightened.

                     ‘Let us begin’, she said softly, as she moved towards the operating table…………..