I have been rocket-propelled! Well, briefly. Read on and my story will unfold. I’m now at home and have been for a couple of days but today is the first day that I feel that life is starting to return to normal! After my surgery which went very well I was discharged and started the convalescent process at home. Unfortunately, some blood started to appear in my urine together with some spidery clots and then I awoke at about four in the morning and discovered that my catheter had ceased to drain. After a quick telephone call to the Christie clinic and I was in the car, chauffeured by She Who Must Be Obeyed and back on ward three, just half an hour later. One of my consultant’s, Mr. Sengar, had been called in and he proceeded to wash my bladder out. This was an unusual, although not an unpleasant experience. Mr. Sengar decided to keep me in the clinic for a few days during which time I had a couple more bladder flushes. On top of this rather unpleasant experience my bowel had decided to cease to flow and consequently I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable as the days flowed by (or not as the case may be). Last Saturday, I was becoming desperate. Apart from the laxative the clinic gave me, my wife Diana, a.k.a. She Who Must Be Obeyed, descended upon the ward in full force and fed me with a double espresso, six dosages of Movicol, a quantity of fresh fruit salad, four packets of prunes and then the staff nurse inserted a couple of gelatin suppositories for good measure. Everybody decided to take cover and the result after an excruciating twenty-minute wait was, nothing!
I awoke on Sunday morning feeling as if I would burst and was examined by Mr. Sengar again. It was decided that the gelatin suppositories would be attempted again and if they were not to have the desired effect then there was dark mutterings suggesting the use of phosphorous suppositories which mentally suggested a picture of Hades itself. It was but a short time when the staff nurse reappeared with the said gelatin suppositories which were duly inserted much as I expected a soldier would load his musket with a vigorous quantity of black powder, wadding and lead shot, all of which was strongly tamped into the muzzle using the longest and straightest of ram rods. I then waited and waited and waited some more. Suddenly I heard and experienced a gurgling sensation from my lower abdominal area and I moved with alacrity from the bed to the throne and there I sat as the gurgling increased its intensity. I felt as if I was sitting atop a Titan moon rocket and it was T minus 10 and the engines had been ignited. At T minus seven torrents of steam were exploding across the launch pad and then it was five, four, three, two, one, lift off! I swear, that due the full force of mother nature, I hovered above the toilet seat for a fraction of a second. Then, gravity reclaimed my body together with the spent fuel that had duly been emitted by my personal rocket motor. For those of you who can remember, the jubilant scenes in mission control after a successful rocket launch, that would be but a vicarage tea party, compared to what happened on Ward 3 at The Christie Clinic! Now, dear reader, I will be returning to the Christie Clinic tomorrow and all being well my catheter will be plucked from my body and I will no longer have an external plastic bladder attached to my right thigh gently swishing as I stroll around the estate.
Until my next post, Toodleoo!