I went under the knife again. Counting backwards from 10 as the anesthetist instructed. I was out in seconds, and as if by magic, or so it seems, woke up instantly to what can only be described as hell!!!
There was turmoil around me as the nurses were waking me. I was being pushed out of the theatre whilst the nurse was asking how I felt. How did I feel? I felt like I’d been run over by a bus. I came in and out of consciousness and the next thing I remember was waking up and wanting to piss like never before in my life. The pain was unbelievable. So there I was, delirious from the anesthetic, pipes and tubes hanging out of me, my leg stuck in the air in plaster and totally bed bound. I found the piss bottle beside my bed but when I tried to place myself in it, I realised I still had the courtesy pants they’d put on me for surgery. Courtesy pants are kind of fishnet pants, totally see through no courtesy at all, except to stop your man hood lolloping around. In my delirious state I just couldn’t figure out how to get my, about to burst dick, out of the pants and into the bottle. I remembered they’d told me I’d have a buzzer to call the nurse. I found it and pressed with a weak cry of “nuurrse, nuurrse”. My Florence Nightingale walked into the room and this is how I remember the next set of events:
Florence says: “Hello Mark, can I help?”
Me (in a pathetic voice): “Nuurrse, I need to piss” holding up the urine bottle in a vain gesture.
Florence: “Leave it to me”
She took the bottle from me and placed it on my tummy. She then took out her scissors, raised them an inch from my face and in an exaggerated gesture, opened them up and proceeded to move down with the scissors in hand. I honestly thought she was going to cut my cock off!!! In a weak voice, I squeaked “Noooo”. She cut the courtesy pants off, grabbed my appendage and put it into the bottle. The sudden release from the pain as I pissed was almost orgasmic and that was the start of the Florence Nightingale effect with my nurse. She was officially now my hero.
The next few days were tough. Lots of pain and discomfort, but a bit of gambling on the gee gees took mind off it, as I was passing bets to my porter who brought my food in. I was lucky enough to be in a private room and as I watched the boat race and the London Marathon, bed bound, I vowed to run the marathon within two years as I’d already been told by the surgeon that I shouldn’t run or do impact sports again!!! (See my other Blog “The Day I was outrun by a Teletubbies” for that adventure)
I was to be bed bound for five days and planned to be discharged on the Wednesday. One more uncomfortable ordeal I had to endure was to remove the drain from my knee. They’d told me the tube was about 1.5 inches into my knee through an incision made during surgery to drain the fluids, the tube came out of a hole in the plaster cast and drained into a canister attached to the side of my bed. The plan was for the nurse just to tug it out! I mean really?!?
I was told that the incision would have scabbed around the tube so the tug had to be strong enough to break the scab but not too hard to open the wound. The nurse would then slowly pull the tube out. Still totally bed bound and hanging onto one of those triangles they have above you to pull you up in bed, the nurse counted down from 3. She got to 2 and tugged on it, bitch!! Short sharp pain and then the weirdest sensation as I felt the tube within my knee coming out. Nearly threw up and went a bit light headed but my Florence matter of factly said: “well done”, wrapped the tube up around a my gunk filled fluid container and left the room.
My final memory of my time in the hospital was around bed baths and doing number 2’s!!! Number 1’s had become easy after the first nights painful adventure. Without the courtesy pants and delirious state I was able to easily put my appendage within the piss bottle. However, number 2’s were another matter. I was damned if I was shitting in a bed pan for my lovely Florence to come and clean it out! Bed baths were a little awkward too as it was with a young lady washing most of my bits with a sponge and flannel, only letting me clean my own appendage and always being asked: “do we need the toilet Mark for solids?” My mind had obviously told my body that number 2’s were banned from happening whilst I was stuck in that bed. Unbeknown to me at that time, this mind over body issue would come back and bite me in the arse and wallet.
To be concluded…….