Catheter

By Friday lunchtime I've got a severe pain in my bladder and I can hardly take a pee. All I can do is lie on my back, wince with each stabbing pain, and groan. A nurse comes by and I tell that I think I may have a bladder infection. They fetch a doctor. He prods, pokes and taps at my abdomen. A light tap is enough to make me shout in pain. A small group of doctors and nurses discuss what is to be done, there are veiled suggestions of checking the prostate, but the conclusion is drawn; no infection.

The blue curtain is whipped into place and minutes later I've got my bits sticking out of a hole in a large sheet of waterproof paper. The doctor applies some lube, and pushes a plastic tube inside me. I can't say it was gentle, though it probably was. It's supposed to be painless... On the second attempt I was "arrrrrrghing" at the top of my voice and eventually the tube entered my bladder. He had not yet connected the bag and so urine starts to pour everywhere. The nurse rapidly connects me up and then all eyes are on the calibrations on the catheter bag to see how much comes out.

It's a Foley catheter which has a small balloon inside the bladder to stop the tube falling out, or in my case, to stop the patient extracting it! Catheters are scaled according to "the French Gauge".  The French gauge was devised by Joseph-Frédéric-Benoît Charrière, a 19th-century Parisian maker of surgical instruments, who defined the "diameter times 3" relationship. 
The catheter is now my constant companion. I can feel it every time I bend at the waist. It's the strangest thing; not being able to stop yourself peeing. You can feel it draining out drip by dribble, non-stop. All day, all night. Periodically, the nurse measures the contents of the bag, and sometimes she empties it.