I spent two weeks in hospital, with a catheter, which had been inserted during the operation. This meant the urine bottle was hanging on the side of my bed and I had to sleep either on my back or turned slightly left or right.
I wasn’t allowed to drink water, only to wet my lips with small sponges on sticks. An epidural had been set up in my spine, to minimise any pain that might arise. I also had an oxygen mask fitted. At regular intervals, a nurse would wake me to give me pain killers. The first time he wanted to rouse me from sleep, he did it by gently brushing his fingers on my thigh, apparently a recommended practice. The effect was to make me wake with a start, jerking my stomach muscles and pulling at the metal clips holding my stomach wound together. The accompanying sharp pain caused me to let out a few expletives followed by a swift apology and request for him not to do that again.
After two nights, I was moved into a general ward with five other guys. My epidural and oxygen mask had been removed as I hadn’t needed them. Over the next few days, I grew stronger and was able to take an interest in events around me. One nurse, a tall, blond lady, who spoke with a slight accent, was particularly intriguing. Professional and caring, she had a remarkable ability to pick up a sheet of paper from the floor without bending her legs, which I was fortunate enough to witness.
Several visitors came to see me, my wife, May, of course, my sister and many family friends. But not my twin brother. As I became stronger, I was able to get out of bed and exercise up and down the corridor, with the help of a zimmer frame on which I hung my urine bottle. I even went down in the lift to W H Smith to get a newspaper. The most difficult part at this stage of the recovery was getting the bowels moving. Fortunately, after nearly 8 days, I was able to get a result, with the help of several glasses of liquid laxative.
A specialist came to talk to me about the intricacies of pelvic floor exercises, which I had to learn to help control my bladder. She was quite helpful, and explained how it was the same muscles we use to control our farts. I came to appreciate some of the challenges that face post natal mothers. It wasn’t all plain sailing. When my wife brought me some clothes on my day of discharge, the nurse removed the catheter. Although trying hard to flex the pelvic floor muscles, I’d forgotten that I’d been drinking over 2 litres of water a day for nearly two weeks.
The nurse provided me with several incontinence pads, which I struggled to put in place immediately after having the catheter removed. Needless to say, there was a small pool on the floor before everything was in place. Walking towards the hospital exit, I involuntarily started to urinate. Moving swiftly to the nearest toilet, I was able to remove the barely old pad and replace it with a new one. It was several days before my pelvic floor exercises helped me to control this. Having experimented with some Level 1 crotch pads from Tena, I eventually settled down with a folded pocket tissue over the end of my penis held in place with medium Tena Fix pants, under my boxer shorts.
