Today, as a follow up to my prostatectomy in 2017, I suffered the ignominy and discomfort of a Flexible Cystoscopy. This involves looking at the inside of the bladder with a camera through the only available access point, and I was very nervous before-hand, having read about the expected pain level.
As it happened, I barely felt a thing at the time due to the numbing ointment, but for the rest of the day it stings like the devil. It was a simple, five minute procedure and the operating nurse, two trainee nurses and I all had a good look via a monitor screen around inside what turned out to be a healthy organ.
People say the NHS is underfunded. I suggest they could save quite a bit on the laundry bill. It went something like this: “Take off your trousers and pants and put this gown on. Don’t bother to tie it up at the back.” “OK, now hop up on the bed and pull the gown up to your waist.” A quick poke about, then “OK, you can get dressed now. Pop the gown in the bin.”
That gown was used for less than ten minutes and covered my dignity only for the half dozen steps from the changing screen to the bed and back. I’m not even sure why they need a screen for you to change behind when three young ladies will be staring in detail at your bits and pieces immediately afterwards.
All is well, but apparently to avoid having to get up in the night I must drink more during the day – and cut the caffeine.
General Whiskers' semi-historical wanderings 