EXIT ONLY

there is something daunting

when one doesn’t heed signs of warning

like when you’re at the edge of a cliff

and there is a sign displayed

BEWARE

so when I say certain body parts are made for

exit only

God really intended it for

EXIT ONLY

It’s 6 weeks post-transplant. I’m going in to get my last piece of medical device removed from my body. YAY! A stent located up in  my bladder. A stent that was placed up there to assist in avoiding complications during and post surgery. A stent that has been rubbing me the wrong way, literally.

I’m mortified. My legs have been spread and mounted  in stir-ups for nearly an hour now. Just being in that position is a violation to the molecules in the  room. Being in that position is a violation to me. The fact that some unknown male doctor is going to be all up in my Garden of Eden and then some with alien like tools of extraction is just unsettling. I am shy, although I should not be at this point. Being in the hospital as much as I have should cure anyone of personal space issues in the most private of areas.  

I’m still waiting. My dear friend, Loralee, is sitting next to me comforting me and documenting the event with her iPhone. An hour in the ‘hello I’m open’ position lends a lot of time to think.    I worry how much pain this really will be and then I wonder why on earth would anyone want to go into Urology and look at v-jay jay’s and weenies all day? …And so I pretend to read People magazine as I lay there…open.

My nurse sticks her head past the curtain to inform me that the team is on it’s way. I politely reply, “OK”, but in my head a red flag immediately goes up as I ponder the word, “team”. (‘Team’ can be a questionable term to a patient at a teaching hospital…I don’t care if this is a top ranked facility in the nation, it is a con with the procedure I am about to have performed). 

How many men does it take to unscrew a stent from me, considering I only have one part? I hear shuffling of feet. In comes the doctor. Then another. And another. Three. “Holy Crap!” escapes from my mouth before I could access the filter control in my brain. Dr. Lakin looks at me and smiles kindly. He makes a comment that sweet looking Asians aren’t supposed to speak like that.  He is at ease because he is not going to be working on me. He is going to be overlooking the procedure as the two juvenile residents are going to be practicing Stent removal 101 on Diana Lee. Doc Lakin assures me it’ll be very brief, like 3 seconds and feel like removing a Foley catheter. Tolerable.

YEEEOOOWWWWW!!!! I am about to explode through the roof like an angry superhero. Better yet, I’m about to slam ‘Resident Evil’ on the procedure table and shove a scope up his penis, lose the stent, shove the scope up again and cause irreparable mental damage to his psyche and his manhood.  I think this just might actually be the first time he’s EVER done this. When Doc Lakin  reminds           ‘Resident Evil’ that he’s got four hands with the aid of a resident assistant, because he looks like he’s going to drop an important device, I think ABORT!

Round one. ‘Resident Evil’ enters my ‘pee-pee’ (that’s what the nurse called it. Not to be confused with the v-jay jay, which is below the pee-pee) with a scope, which has a camera at the end, only to have the scope fall back out because he didn’t stick it up far enough. The camera is showing a shot of the room ceiling in the monitor. Lovely.

Round two. ‘Resident Evil’ attempt this task again. Success. The camera is turned on and I stare at the monitor as little prongs come out of the black snake-like scope, entering my bladder  in search of my stent. It latches onto the stent and as Lakin tells me to take  a deep breath, I feel douche bag rip the scope out of me before I could even inhale. “Oh David, shame on you. You lost the stent!” says Dr. Lakin. Strike two.

Round three. The pain of the scope going up into me is so excruciating painful, it feels like razor blades. The topical anesthetic does absolutely nothing for me. I’m looking at my bladder once again and the little monster prong that is about to clamp onto the stent. “Make sure it’s really latched on and grab hard” says Lakin. ‘Resident Evil’ has the poor stent so tight this time it’s folded in half. YEEOOOOWWWW. It’s out. I look at Loralee. She looks back at me sympathetically. That 3 seconds turned into at least 5 min of hell on earth. I can’t even imagine the men who have to suffer through this.

Which brings me to this kinda funny, but not so funny if you were a guy thing. There is a sign in my procedure room, which happens to be posted above the table contraption I lay on. I come to realize it’s a reminder for ‘Resident Evil’ and friends to do the following. I mean, how many male patients have walked out with ‘penile clamps’ still attached? I had to laugh…it was a nervous laugh.

So alas, I made it out alive although my ‘pee-pee’ is really pissed at me. No pun intended. I bleed and it hurts to the point of crying when I go to the bathroom. On the bright side, all foreign objects from the transplant have now been removed. Minus the ‘B’idney. He is a keeper. DO NOT TOUCH.