Making a Girl Feel Special.

G sent me these for our anniversary. They are the most beautiful flowers he has ever sent. The wow factor is high, they’re tall and the colours make the house feel like the entire garden has come inside to join us.  There’s something very special about receiving flowers, the delivery to the house, the card, it’s impossible not to smile. I kept looking over at them while I was having my coffee this morning. I felt a little bit special.

About three hours later I was laying on this, in an upright position, with a plastic container between my thighs attempting to wee in front of an audience of six.

I didn’t feel very special.

The stand at the bottom is for your feet. The machinery hovering above the “bed” is an X-ray, it moves around like an extra terrestrial looking for somewhere to put the implant. After my bladder had been pumped full of a substance which I am sure now makes me glow in the dark, the “bed” was tipped to an upright position.

“Okay Kirsty, we’re ready when you are”

Nothing. We all stared at each other. Waiting.

“I can’t”

“Nurse, can you turn the taps on and dim the lights – that usually gets things moving”

We discussed water shortages, council rates and garbage collection. Nothing.

“I can’t”

“Nurse, can you get Kirsty a glass of water”

We talked about holidays, children, Morocco and travelling. Nothing.

“I can’t”

And I really couldn’t. My bladder was bursting, but something in my psyche, a voice I couldn’t hear because it had faded since toilet training, said no way.

An hour went by.

“Are you okay Kirsty? You’re not going to faint are you?”

“I will die of boredom or pure frustration before I faint. What do I do? How do I fix it?”

“Nurse, get Kirsty another glass of water will you?”

Two hours. The nurse let it slip that the longest they’d waited for a patient to wee was five hours. Tears began to form, not big ones; small, frustrated, locked my keys in the car, lost my grandmothers necklace tears. I’m useless, I’m pathetic, this is stupid. Those tears.

I mumbled to myself “I’ve had enough, it’s been a long six weeks. I cant handle this anymore”. My friend Mr Defeatist had joined me.

What if I don’t do it?” In came Mr Quitter.

“You’ll go home with both catheters until you can”. Mr Resolve told them both to leave the room.

I heard my phone ringing in my bag in the change room. I knew it was the little travellers, it was their scheduled time to call.

Nothing.

Thirty minutes of excruciating, busting to go but can’t go, went by.

If I could get this done, I could catch the children before they left for school.

“It’s coming!”

My surgeon tells me my urethra is “beautiful”. With tremendous pride she pointed to the x-ray and said “see, you can’t even see I’ve been there”. It will be my new opening line at dinner parties, tell us a bit about yourself Kirsty “well, I have a beautiful urethra”.

“Tomorrow I’ll take out the other catheter and have a good look at your vagina”.

She really knows how to make a girl feel special.

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