If you know me, you also know that I need to go to the bathroom right now. I need to go constantly and emergently. The other night, I needed to pee every ten minutes because I made the mistake of drinking half a cup of chamomile tea. I vowed to never drink any kind of tea again.
I've been this way for years, but lately it's gotten worse. Even with the generous southern bathroom hospitality I receive on a regular basis, (I've not yet gotten turned away) I just can't live this way anymore. So I've started seeing a urologist. My urology experiences have been down right weird.
If you are looking to pick up a geriatric old man, just head to your local urologist office. The waiting room was jam packed with old folks. Packed. I'm a nurse and I've never seen so many old dudes in one place. Judging from the waiting room crowd, I'm the only young woman who sees a urologist.
Nurses and doctors who work in urologist offices love their jobs on a somewhat maniacal level. The nurse practitioner who talked with me actually winked at me in the middle of her bladder training speech. This leads me to believe that folks in urology are very happy because they have severe fetishes with old people's genitalia that they get to satisfy on a daily basis. However, I'm open to other theories.
After my first visit I was tentatively diagnosed with an overactive bladder and given some medication to try. The medication was an anticholinergic drug, which are famous for their dry mouth and constipation side effects. I told the doctor that if I'd rather continue to wet my pants than be constipated. After all, I'd been dealing with my bladder issue for over a decade. We decided to make a date for a "bladder study" so that we could get more information about my crappy bladder. And as I suspected the meds did not work out.
Weeks later I showed up for my bladder study. When the receptionist told me that my bladder date would take about two hours, I realized I had not asked enough questions about what a bladder study entailed. As the nurse ushered me into the "urologic suite" I asked what exactly was about to go down. She showed me to a johnny and casually explained that they were going to put a special catheter in my bladder and a balloon in my butt. I just stared. A catheter in the bladder seemed reasonable enough, but a balloon in the butt? Apparently this would help them learn about my bladder pressure. Desperate to live a life not filled with emergency bathroom stops I decided not to jump out the window.
I'll spare you any further gory details and skip to what I learned from the bladder study.
1) My bladder holds a fraction of the amount of fluid that a normal bladder holds. That's why I have to emergency pee all the time. This sucks.
2) Hand holding rocks! At a very uncomfortable part of the study, one of the nurse practitioners swooped in and held my hand. What a difference this makes! I have taken this move into my own nursing practice and have been a handholding fiend at work, even with patients who are only semi conscious. In the heat of the moment who cares if someone is saving your life or your bladder. Hands need to be held!
So, at the ripe age of 30, I'm going to get botox injections.... in my damn bladder. It's a surgery, so I'll be partially knocked out. It's not yet happened but I'll let you know how it turns out. Hopefully I can get someone to hold my hand.
I've been this way for years, but lately it's gotten worse. Even with the generous southern bathroom hospitality I receive on a regular basis, (I've not yet gotten turned away) I just can't live this way anymore. So I've started seeing a urologist. My urology experiences have been down right weird.
If you are looking to pick up a geriatric old man, just head to your local urologist office. The waiting room was jam packed with old folks. Packed. I'm a nurse and I've never seen so many old dudes in one place. Judging from the waiting room crowd, I'm the only young woman who sees a urologist.
Nurses and doctors who work in urologist offices love their jobs on a somewhat maniacal level. The nurse practitioner who talked with me actually winked at me in the middle of her bladder training speech. This leads me to believe that folks in urology are very happy because they have severe fetishes with old people's genitalia that they get to satisfy on a daily basis. However, I'm open to other theories.
After my first visit I was tentatively diagnosed with an overactive bladder and given some medication to try. The medication was an anticholinergic drug, which are famous for their dry mouth and constipation side effects. I told the doctor that if I'd rather continue to wet my pants than be constipated. After all, I'd been dealing with my bladder issue for over a decade. We decided to make a date for a "bladder study" so that we could get more information about my crappy bladder. And as I suspected the meds did not work out.
Weeks later I showed up for my bladder study. When the receptionist told me that my bladder date would take about two hours, I realized I had not asked enough questions about what a bladder study entailed. As the nurse ushered me into the "urologic suite" I asked what exactly was about to go down. She showed me to a johnny and casually explained that they were going to put a special catheter in my bladder and a balloon in my butt. I just stared. A catheter in the bladder seemed reasonable enough, but a balloon in the butt? Apparently this would help them learn about my bladder pressure. Desperate to live a life not filled with emergency bathroom stops I decided not to jump out the window.
I'll spare you any further gory details and skip to what I learned from the bladder study.
1) My bladder holds a fraction of the amount of fluid that a normal bladder holds. That's why I have to emergency pee all the time. This sucks.
2) Hand holding rocks! At a very uncomfortable part of the study, one of the nurse practitioners swooped in and held my hand. What a difference this makes! I have taken this move into my own nursing practice and have been a handholding fiend at work, even with patients who are only semi conscious. In the heat of the moment who cares if someone is saving your life or your bladder. Hands need to be held!
So, at the ripe age of 30, I'm going to get botox injections.... in my damn bladder. It's a surgery, so I'll be partially knocked out. It's not yet happened but I'll let you know how it turns out. Hopefully I can get someone to hold my hand.
I found this post incredibly funny and entertaining, incredibly informative and educational, and incredibly sweet and heartwarming.
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