Recovery Stinks

That's right, I call my private area my who, or sometimes my who-who. Vagina, penis, testicles, clitoris, vulva, labia — all those words just somehow get stuck in my throat. I hate saying those words — and I used to be a biology teacher! So who it will have to be.

Bottom line: my who hurts. Why wouldn't it hurt? They cut half of it off and then stuffed this stupid catheter up me, so I wouldn't have to work to pee. No offense to anyone out there who has to wear a catheter full time, but this thing sucks!

I finally got up the energy to shower, and decided to change the bedside catheter bag I was sent home with to a smaller leg bag, so I could put pants on and move around some. By the time I was done, I was so exhausted I needed a nap.

Mom came to check on me about an hour later, only to find I hadn't closed the drain on the catheter bag and had leaked urine all over the bed. It was soaking wet. Great! I haven't wet the bed in 38 years, but I did it today.

At least mom was here to change the sheets for me, like she did when I was three. I climbed back into the shower, hosed myself off, and put on dry clothes. This time I made sure the valve was securely closed on bag. I retreated to the La-Z-Boy. I'll stay here for the duration of my healing process.

There are definite benefits to being back home with mom and pops. I don't have to worry about much. Meals are being made for me, I don't have to clean anything and when the phone rings there is a real good chance it isn't a bill collector looking for me. The downside to being here? My kids are home alone, and I miss them terribly!

When I am not feeling well and retreat to the comfort of my covers, they still come and snuggle with me. It's some sight, RJ on one side, Jayne on the other — and her boyfriend joins in too. The shepherds have to snuggle in too, because let's face it, they really are just big hairy children.

It's not the best night sleep any of us get, but it's one filled with a lot of love. In my world, that's all that matters.