Oh, what a shit, shit day.
Was up with the lark to drag myself to hospital for urodynamics testing in light of my little bladder issue. I’m still waiting for another MRI and they wanted to see what my bladder was doing as it filled, to double-check the cause or maybe to just pass the time and have some fun shoving things up a tired boy’s dick, I dunno. (Sorry if this is all a bit graphic, but illness is graphic I’m afraid and it’s my blog, so y’know.)
What a way to spend the morning. To be fair, they did make me a cup of tea, but that hardly compensated. First of all they took my catheter out, marched me into a bathroom and ordered me on pain of death to urinate. But I couldn’t. The nurse (overweight Irish lady) came in and turned the taps on, looking at me expectantly.
“Well not really, no, as I think the problem is in my brain, y’see.”
She set me down on the little bed as another nurse wheeled in a portable toilet type thing, decorated with a thousand squishy bottles of water. There were wires everywhere. It all looked very Clockwork Orange.
“Ok Mr Mareship, you’re going to have to sit on that.”
“On that, nice and tall, back straight.”
“Like a sort of King?” I said, trying to make the experience just a little bit better for myself.
I was a very strange King. First, she put another catheter in with a sort of camera on it. That hurt like a motherfucker. Then she held up this ridiculous object and said ‘ I just need to pop this in your backside, might be a bit uncomfortable’ to which I replied ‘don’t worry, you can fit an entire fist in there’ which might be the worst thing I’ve ever, ever said whilst sane. So I’m sat on a fucking wheely toilet, silly stupid flimsy open-backed smock barely concealing my modesty, tubes hanging out of my cock and arse, whilst a nurse pumps me full of liquid. Then an even worse thing happened. ALL OF THE NURSES FROM NEUROLOGY TURNED UP. Five of them! I have NO CLUE how they knew I was in the building, but because they all sort of ‘know’ me they seem to think I have no issue with them standing in a cluster, watching me undergo serious urodynamic testing. I’m not an easily embarrassed person, I’m past all of that now, but this was really rather cringey. Being English I couldn’t just ask them to leave, oh no, I smiled and make idle chit chat about how the bakery down the road has gone out of business and how the air’s gone a bit nippy and all that bullshit that people chat about ON BUSES OR IN DENTIST WAITING ROOMS, not whilst shivering and naked and on a fucking toilet.
Then, when it was all over and I had a brand new shiny catheter fitted, the consultant told me he wanted me to come off all of my antipsychotic medication.
I just stared at him.
“I’ve seen a few people who have urinary retention issues because of these kinds of meds…”
“But we know why I can’t urinate. We know why. It’s obvious….!”
“Your MRI is too far away, I want you to come off the Seroquel. Book an appointment with your psychiatrist.”
And that was that. He just fucked off, leaving me sat on the bed with my legs dangling uselessly, frightened to death. ( I have good reason to be frightened to death – the last time I came off my anti-psychs I ended up in a ditch in Cornwall eating cornflakes out of the box wearing a woman’s hat.)
I don’t understand the reasoning behind this decision at all. I’m so confused. I’m so useless at all of this – my sister should have come with me this morning to play merry hell with him; I’m just not that kind of person – it takes at least a day, two days sometimes, for me to register that I’m annoyed and then another few days to act on it, and even then I’l just write a strongly worded letter that I probably won’t send. Surely the first step is to find evidence that it’s a neurological problem before fiddling around with my medication? I’m awfully worried.
I came home and flitted around the internet for a bit – found that Fox video and laughed – cuddled the cat and then suddenly zonked out on my sofa with my head on a dirty plate. I woke up half an hour ago to a flurry of furious phone messages from Toscar, who had been hammering down my door and calling my mobile for hours.
So I repeat. What a shit, shit day.