Today I had a camera rammed up the jap’s eye. Every male reader has now crossed his legs or at least clamped them together. Quite right too, it is a remarkably unpleasant experience.
I have seen the inside of my own bladder, something nobody should ever see. On the plus side, after 54 years of permanent dampness, it is in perfect condition. Not even a trace of rust around the seams. I am lumpless still. It drives the NHS mad.
Some weeks back I fell over, cracked two ribs and bashed a kidney. The pain was rather a lot. I peed blood and even exuded a blood clot the size and shape of a ureter. After five days of it I gave in and phoned the medics. By this time the pee-blood had stopped.
Okay, it is fair to say the original injuries were drink-related. I was plastered and felt nothing until the following morning. Anyway, I ended up staying ovenight in hosptal where they X-rayed and CT-scanned me and found nothing important damaged. So I went home and did what I did last time I cracked a rib (it’s not in their records, I didn’t tell them about that one). I took it carefully until the ends fused back together. It still twinges now and then but that is only to be expected.
Then I had a letter telling me my bladder-scan was booked. This was news to me. Nobody mentioned any follow-up. Well, I thought, I have passed the half-century so birthdays are counting down now. The chance of something going wrong must be increasing daily. So I went along. What the hell, I’ve paid enough into the NHS and have just had my second overnight stay for 28 years. Might as well start accumulating my money’s worth. It’ll take more years than I have left.
I was lectured on lifestyle by people who didn’t exist 28 years ago. Life? Don’t talk to me about life. I’ve been doing it twice as long as you have. It’s not as much fun as you think it will be, but it used to be. You missed the good stuff. All you have left is drone life.
Anyway, today was KnobCam day. I faced a humourless consultant and a very pretty nurse. Under normal circumstances the nurse would have had a libido effect but one look ar the camera and the first ever touch of a not-mine male hand on that part and it retracted like snapped elastic. I’m surprised he could even find it.
He did though and he poked in the camera. It didn’t take long. It must have had no more than an inch left to go.
Once again, there is nothing wrong with me. Despite the pre-cam lecture that smoking causes bladder cancer (the joke that I don’t stuff it with baccy and smoke it like a pipe was a waste), despite the warnings that booze makes your pee-bag lumpy (evidence-free medicine again, the gourd-shakers run the NHS now), mine is in perfect health. I can pee free, knowing that the little waterbag is working as it should.
As is the rest of me. I ignore all NHS and stupid-bastard food fundamentalist diktats.
Those who follow them all, those who entirely trust the medical world, all too often end up like this.
There is more and deeper to al this but tonight I have a numb knob and am in full sad-puppy mode. Also well into whisky painkiller tonight.
More on this later, although don’t expect any willie jokes for a while…