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So many events, incidents, mistakes, frustrations, deteriorations, irritations, and depressions, brought about by a variety of circumstances, took place this Thursday. But they were rescinded, almost obliterated in memory, by a six-hour-long, absolute pain-ridden farce with the bladder & Catheter. I was so far behind on the blogs that I’ll be lucky to get this blog done within a day, relying on a break in catastrophes. Life for Inchie, in old age, which the fool thought would be quiet and peaceful – he was obviously wide of the mark on that assumption.  Especially the last four years or so. He wishes that he had had these twenty years ago, when the NHS was efficient and reliable. It is more like a torture establishment than a hospital nowadays. 
But it shadows his own life’s decline. Neither the NHS nor Gerry’s are improvements
To give myself a slight chance of catching up, I’m going to try to relate only the Catheter Farce. But that will take ages, cause I do waffle on about these things, don’t I? Ahem!
I’m just sad that so much will have to be left out, so I can pretend to be catching up on my blogging.
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Having had nearly two weeks of atrociously painful flowbacks from the Catheter, and over the week having eleven District Nurses tend to me (I like them all) to try and start the stopped flow of urine, and each time wriggling the tube, and it started again.
This went on for several days. I was embarrassed each time I called them. Feeling that they did not believe me about the incapacitating pains I was getting when the flowback started. Usually, bless them, they are with me in about 3 hours, and this was much appreciated. On every call they made, I was told to keep drinking water or to drink more water. So I did. I bought a load of it. After a couple of days of agony, the agony from the flowback continued, but then I got water retention in my feet, and a different pain joined in the melee and mysteries of life at Woodthorpe Court. The hobgoblins, spectres, gnomai, phantasms, grotesque succubae, ectoplasms, forgetfulness,  Whoopsiedangleplops, taps left running, stove left on,  spirits, Accifauxpas, slow-cooker left on – my record to date is for 18 hours, fridge-feezers doors left open, light bulbs bursting, catheter-failures, and now the legs and feet are bowing up with water retention…
And the Doctor has given me Finasteride, or is that Finasteride, to reduce the size of my prostate to help the flow of urine. Either way, how can she not know that I’ve been on both for four years now?
I can’t have much, if any, prostate left. Hehehe!
Sorry about that. Back to the plot…
I woke up in the morning with no Catheter pains, and it stayed that way for well into the afternoon. Bliss!
Then they kicked off again, violently, as bad, if not worse than ever. So, I did the only thing I thought would eventually ease the pain, and guzzled and guzzled Spring and Soda water.
This time, it did nothing to ease the agony. In fact, it got worse. So, I guzzled another few litres of water. Then, as I sat there at the computer desk, I thought I felt water dripping on my ankle. I checked, expecting it to come from the Catheter tube, as it had started sprouting out again. I put a large bowl between my legs to catch the drips, then gulped yet another litre of water. Then felt the urine coming up into the tube, and covered the tube tightly with paper towels…
Nothing came out of the tube, but…
The urine burst out through the hole in Little Inchy’s fungal lesion, Arrgh! I’m not joking, even if this sounds impossible, it happened…
A forceful, fine sprinkling of urine shot out.
My Kagoule, dressing gown, legs, and feet all got their quota of wetting! The jug between my legs fell onto the floor, giving the carpet an extra soaking!
As I was struggling to free myself of my clothing…
A second surge was suffered, I could not understand why all of a sudden, the wee flowed unexpectedly. A short burst this time. But the two combined were enough to fill the urine jug, 2000ml.  
I spread several kitchen rolls over the floor, with extra ones near where I sat. Got the togs off, and with the bowl between my knees and two walking sticks (not a pretty sight), I somehow made it to the wet room to empty the jug and bowl… As I was doing so, a third wave arrived! Leaving the two walls, the ceiling and anything in between, pebble-dashed with yellow spots. I got back to the computer and mess I’d sprayed like a mail cat, and called the District Nurses for help. I was told some would be along to see me.  
In the three hours I waited, I had several more bursts from the penis lesion. But in between, I’d gathered kitchen rolls, found a way of hold the bowl in place, and reduced the spraying. Amidst the panic, I felt a Smug-Mode coming on. Fatal that was!
One last blast was coming on, I got the floor covered, no clothes on to limit the damage… but this last spurt was the strongest of them all. As I started t clean up, after waiting for ten minutes in case another follow-up arrived. None did. Great! As I was trying to freshen the carpet, not easy using a picker-upperer, I glanced at the computer screen… it was covered in tiny splashes of urine! Disgusted, I was! Then saw that the keyboard had also been a victim! cleaned things as well as I could. Then I considered crying out loud.

I heard the door open, and the nurse came in.
I told her about the events as she got ready to remove and insert a new Catheter Contraption. But not in as much detail as I have here. She or anyone else would not have believed me if I did.
I showed my concern that the penis cut may still leak. But she didn’t think so, but to call her if it did.
Thank heavens it hasn’t… yet.

Progressing…
New set-up

🖖🏻 Keep well 🖖🏻
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