Inchcock’s Ode: Talking with my ailments
Number One – The Bladder
I begin with Little Inchies Bladder; I think I used all my luck up for the rest of my life around 1989. I got a hernia from lifting the bins at Hero Drinks at Kegworth, went in to have the Hernia Repaired, which they did immediately, putting me in the Men’s Surgery in Ward 19.
When I woke up, and they told me how lucky I had been! And they were right! When they went in with the laser and camera (Yes, I know… how the heck did get all that down Little Inchy you were going to ask, weren’t you? Well, I don’t know, I was blissfully asleep all the way through the operations!) The Consultant carried on; they found cancer in the bladder, which showed up on the mini laser camera, and being as they had all the same tools needed for the hernia, they burnt it out straight away! But my bladder capacity is reduced by 50%. Fair enough, I thought, thank you!
That brought a smile to my face! But the man wouldn’t let me kiss him. Hahaha!
He added that they would remove the catheter and bag from Little Inchy for me in a short while.
An Auxhilary nurse on her own arrived to do it. The poor gal was a bag of nerves and started to pull it out without bleeding it enough first. I asked her to stop and bleed it a bit more… the gal was shaking, bless her.
Above my ward was Prince Charles come in to have his tennis elbow looked at. The staff earlier were disgusted; the hospital had emptied the ward above me. I could hear them moaning about patients being put into a corridor!!! And set two nurses and a Sister on duty, 24/7 for the duration of the Prince’s visit.
Back to the beside:
A sudden, unbelievably loud screech/scream burst out from a nurse. I think, “Look, look, it’s Princess Di coming in!” At this, everyone who could move did so over to the window to look down at Di and her (they told me later) the armed protection officers, as they got her in through a fire door to avoid the press waiting, with cameras at the main front door!
Most unfortunately for me, the young nurse was amongst the Royalists who stampeded to get a view of Lady Di – and pulled the catheter out, catching it with her foot, I assume, as she rushed for her Royal treat!
So, I was with blood spraying up like a fountain, and covering me the bed, clothes and floor… Which the nurse spotted a minute or two later, and she came to me in a panic and crying at what she’d done! Sobbing her heart out, she was! Other staff arrived, the poor young lass couldn’t stop crying, and eventually, things got sorted.
A ranking nurse joined us and started to tear a strip off of the Axhilary nurse; I don’t know why, (Well, I do, I felt terrible for her), but I said; “No, it wasn’t her fault, I turned to see what the fuss was and pulled it out…” I’m sorry I said that now, cause for the next two days, my name was mud with nurses!
The first wee I took with the catheter out, shot forth as if from a fireman’s hose, bounced back from the walls – and I kid you not, left an imprint of my body on the back wall, with blood around it!
I’ve wandered off the plot here, haven’t I?
Sorry, back to the chinwag with the bladder fun…
Inchcock Gerry: Why do you have days when you don’t want to wee-wee, then go bad at it, mate?
Bladder Inchock: Why? It’s obvious, innit? Anyway, I don’t want to confabulate!
Inchcock Gerry: But for two days, you’ve flowed freely, been considerate?
Bladder Inchock: Humph!
Inchcock Gerry: What’s up? I’ve been taking in the extra fluid. Now it must be gallons you hydrate?
Bladder Inchock: That bloody surgeon lasered me; no wonder I can’t concentrate and urinate!
Inchcock Gerry: You should be glad, freed of death! A bit of pain, indeed you can tolerate?
Bladder Inchock: Listen clever-clogs, weeing for me, is variable, strangulate, freeflow, then it may stagnate!
Inchcock Gerry: What? I make sure water does circulate…
Bladder Inchock: I have pain too, do you appreciate?
Inchcock Gerry: Well, I can only speculate!
Bladder Inchock: I send you messages beforehand, admittedly just a few seconds at times, but you also had cancer on my prostate!
Inchcock Gerry: Oh, that’s my fault too, is it? I did ruminate.
Bladder Inchock: I hate talking to a thicko like you – why didn’t you become a graduate?
Inchcock Gerry: Well, I was uneducated and got a job cleaning the sluicegate…
Bladder Inchock: Sod off! You were chasing girls on yer one rollerskate!
Inchcock Gerry: Times were bad back then…
Bladder Inchock: Other people Inchy, have a toilet inside, not going out into the backyard, and having to wait…
Inchcock Gerry: Trust you to be irritable as you postulate…
Bladder Inchock: Ha! So now you accuse me of having irritable bowel syndrome as you orate?
Inchcock Gerry: I’ve no idea what I’m doing talking to a bladder?
Bladder Inchock: You’d better shut up then cause you’re making me madder!