Thursday, 15 July 2010

Today The Beasel ponders: General anasthetic and urine

So there I was in June this year, lying on a trolley in the anesthetics room outside the operating theatre. It had taken the best part of 7 months to reach this point following the rather untimely journey the disc at L5 S1 in my lower spine had decided to take. He hadn't got very far because my sciatic nerve decided he would intervene and so began a rather painful and bitter argument between the two. I had tried several remedies before I had reached this point; one of them had been a visit to my friendly chiropractor. In I had limped to his little room explaining what I had been up to and wondering whether I had in fact just pulled a muscle as I had done this before some years ago producing a week of gurning at my wife and son every time I tried to move. The pain down my left leg was worrying me though as it was excruciating and I had never felt anything like it before. The chiropractor took a look at me and stated that he believed it was probably a muscle spasm that was trapping the nerve and a good crack and thump would see me right. I lay down on his pain bench (I think that's the correct term) and he proceeded to cause cracking noises down my spine, which was unpleasant, but nothing compared to what came next.

"Lay on your right side and relax" he said in a calming tone.

"Right ho" I replied, turning over and allowing him to position my legs.

Now I know what your thinking, but it was quite innocent I assure you. He told me all chiropractors take their trousers off at this point.

Next came the most horrendous pain I have ever felt as pretty much all of his 14 stone frame was pushed into the nerve running down my left buttock by his right elbow. Apparently this was to release the build up of poison in the muscle that was causing the pain. It turns out he was wrong and I had gone back in time to the 16th century, but at least it only cost me £35.00 and the inability to walk for several days to find out.

Following this I was signed off work for several months and spent this time shouting at the NHS for their complete and utter incompetence. Do you want to know why they've got no money? Well I'm going to tell you anyway. It's because they employ people to make appointments for you to go to to find out that the appointment you're currently attending is a pre-appointment and in actual fact the appointment you think you're attending is the next appointment they will make for you. Unfortunately they can't make this appointment at the time because another department handles the booking of appointments and is apparently on the ethereal plain as you can't get hold of them, they will contact you in a week or so to book you in for 6 weeks time to find out they are going to book you another appointment. The reason they have this amazing 21st century system? The government have laid out that you must be seen within a certain period of time, if not, the hospital fails their target and something terrible happens to someone I couldn't give a toss about. Therefore if I attend pointless appointments the hospital can say, "Well The Beasel was seen only 4 weeks ago and he has another appointment in 2 weeks time." No-one seems to realise that it's all smoke and mirrors. Anyway, fuck 'em, work paid and I went private. Unfortunately it took me 6 months to convince work that this was the best option.

So there I am lying on the operating table wearing see through paper pants and a couple of doctors chatting away to me while they put lines in my hand.

Paper pants, what the hell! I was wearing them and a gown over the top, you know the ones done up at the back. When the nurse came in to get me from my room she helped me on with these DVT tights, but I'm pretty sure I gave her a good flash of my gentleman and twins trussed up like an angry bank robber with tights on his head.

Back in the operating room one of the doctors says to me, "You'll feel something cold going up your arm" and before I could check whether he'd taken his trousers off too I found myself waking up in the recovery room.

I was wheeled back to my room where my wife was waiting for me and for the next couple of hours I lay dozing, being checked every half hour or so by the nurses. After a few hours I felt the urge to go wee wee and lay considering my options. Getting up was not going to happen as someone had just been rummaging around with my spine and nerves and I was therefore a bit sore. Pissing myself just seemed silly so I went for the next best thing and asked for a bed pan. Now, I've never used one of these before and it turns out there's quite an art to it. I contemplated having my wife in the room, but we've never been one of those couples that goes to the loo in front of each other so I asked if she'd step outside, which, I think she was only too happy to do. I got the major out of the mosquito net, I was still wearing them, and aimed him down the little funnel thing. By this time I was ready to explode and was wondering whether the cardboard bedpan would be able to hold the lake of pee that was heading its way or whether it would realise it was just made of tough paper and dissolve all over my thighs. I didn't care anymore, if my destiny was to be covered in wet cardboard and hot urine then I would fulfill that destiny. Then...nothing happened. I couldn't pee. I was thinking all the right things, I counted the ceiling tiles, I watched Wimbledon, but nothing. It reminded me of when you get stage fright in a pub toilet, you know, when you really need a good beer piss so you go in the toilets, stand at a urinal and then some massive bloke comes in and stands at the urinal right next to you even though there's one free further down and lets out a torrent of urine that would put out a building fire. Then the thoughts begin, 'Why can't I wee, I can't just stand here, I'm starting to look like I like standing here with my cock out, what if he notices and then confronts me, I'll have to leave the toilet with him following me shouting about how I was there not weeing and then I'll just piss myself in front of everyone.' Or when you really need a poo at work so you go in the toilet only to find someone is already pooing in one of the cubicles so you're left with the conundrum, do I now go for a poo, what if it's noisy and then I come out at the same time as him and he knows I was the one who did the noisy poo. Or you're about to poo and then someone comes in the toilets and you sit there praying for someone to start the hand dryer so it will mask the inevitable loud poo fart you feel building the longer you hold.

Anyway...10 minutes it took to wee. Apparently, general anesthetic puts all your insides to sleep, which I guess is obvious as they have to breath for you, but I assumed my bladder would wake up the same as my lungs did! Something to do with muscles I'm told by my brother, bloody know it all scientists. It took about 3 days for me to pee again properly. Oh, and I found out I was allergic to morphine, which is a bummer, as my whole body felt like it was covered in fleas...again!


  1. welcome to the "grand addiction" copper

  2. Word to you Grand Inquisitor. Finally I have found something to dampen my inquenchable thirst for crack.