It took me awhile to be able to pee again – I’ve not been able to do it flat on my back since toilet training … OK, there was that one time I drank waaaay too much beer, but I don’t think that counts. In the end, the threat of a catheter was what it took. It’s been a one way street for 48 years and I intend to keep it that way.
Moving my bowels has been another story – I bumped my pancreas when I came down and it’s been producing too much of an enzyme (or too little, I’m not sure) which has caused my bowel to shut down. It hasn’t been an issue to me, I’ve not been hungry (something to do with opiate painkillers?), so nothing in means nothing out.
The doctors (and there are a lot of them in a hospital) have a different view, and while I’m not going to share the treatment details, apparently I’m good again. I haven’t passed anything solid, but if farting was an Olympic sport, I’d be a good chance for a podium place in London next year.
Now that my bowel is sorted, they’re back to my busted vertebrae.
I had the brace I’m going to be wearing for the next three months made yesterday. It’s plastic, nipples to hips, held tight with 3 velcro straps. Somewhere between fetish & a kinder Ned Kelly costume.
At 9 o’clock this morning they said I’d be going to x-ray “shortly”. It’s 4:30 and I’ve just returned from my standing x-ray. They were going to do it yesterday, but my bowel got in the way. If the doctors are happy with it, I’ll be chatting to physio, then home tomorrow.
Moral of the story: don’t go to hospital on a long weekend.