July 2000
Liam's
Letter from London

It all started on the Tuesday when I was passing urine in the evening. There was a slight feeling of a burning sensation, but this had happened before and I did not pay too much attention.

As the evening turned into night matters began to get seriously out of hand. There was a burning feeling continually in my penis and when I tried to urinate it was agony. The night was long and horrific and if I got up once, I got up fifty times. I could find little comfort and was just about able to pass a little urine at each attempt.

I rang my doctor first thing in the morning and was very fortunate to get an afternoon appointment. The young lady doctor tested me positively me for an infection and put me on a course of anti biotics and asked to call back to the surgery on the following Friday for a detailed result. The day turned into evening and the pain and discomfort were getting worse. At eight o'clock in the evening I rang the emergency out of hours doctor as it was all getting unbearable. He said to take paracetemol painkillers and wait for the anti biotics to work 

The painkillers helped for a bit and eased the discomfort but then there was a backlash and I was in real trouble. There was an urgent and continual need to urinate but each time I tried it was agony and I was unable to pass anything at all. I rang the emergency doctor again at three in the morning and asked should I get myself to casualty as there did not seem to be any possibility of anyone coming out to help me. He agreed and I just about happened to have enough cash to pay for a mini cab to St Mary's Paddington. As we trolled along through the quiet London streets the Turkish driver told me of the often racist attitude he had met in casualty and how he had to pay privately for treatment for an abscess under his lip. At least his description of his misery took my mind off my troubles and he wished me good luck when we reached Mary's. 

The casualty was not too bad with around six people waiting to be seen. I was interviewed by a male nurse who was concentrating on putting information into his computer and not really taking on board that I had not urinated for hours and I was in slow agony. He told me to take a seat and said that it would probably be hours before I was seen by a doctor. This was wonderfully comforting news and I was pacing up and down with the pain and wondering how the hell did I break this dreadful impasse. I implored the nurse behind the glass reinforced reception area for a painkiller and she managed to get me a red tablet but its effects were pretty minimal.

After some more pleading and begging I was taken into casualty proper and put in one of the cubicles. Everything thing was taking interminably long and there was an air of stroll and chat and emergency was about the last word that I would have used. People looked into computers or scribbled away or chatted about the weekend and the price of tea. The burning pain in my bladder was very far down the list of priorities.

A nurse came and asked me to urinate into a small plastic bottle. I managed a few drops but nothing more would come out. The pain was constant; the pain was nagging and I was in a state of near despair. Then the cubicle curtain swished back and a charming doctor flowed in as if he had been waiting like a gallant knight to come to my aid and ease my discomfort. He patted and prodded and said, yes, that a catheter was needed. He injected a numbing substance down my penis and then inserted the catheter. The golden amber liquid poured out into a clear plastic bag hanging by the bed and in very little time had filled to a 1000cc. This was the first relief for days and I lay back on my hospital trolley and enjoyed a moment of relaxation.

He also mentioned that I would probably need an operation on my prostate that was probably the root cause of the problem. I was consoled to hear that this was only a minor operation and would last only for about twenty minutes. I was to be admitted to one of the wards and as I had never being in a hospital as an adult this was a little foreboding. But I was so relieved to be rid of that terrible pain in my bladder that I was ready for almost any inconvenience.

After a belated breakfast in casualty that tasted like a gourmet meal in the Ritz a bantering South African porter wheeled me to Zachary Cope ward on the ninth floor. The welcome was somewhat cold and impersonal but I was put to bed and viewed my new companions with some interest. I was fortunate to have a Kerryman in the bed beside and he was chatty and informative and gave me good guidelines on how to make the best of it. I soon got to know a good section of the ward and they were often there for very serious operations. I was amazed by their courage and even aplomb and they were a real example to me in holding steady.

There were a lot of Irish working there and on the whole they were cheerful and supportive, both female and male nurses. I was very surprised at the role men were now playing in the care of patients and it was a comforting surprise to see them managing as well as the girls. One Irish night nurse was brilliant. Her name was Stephanie Dolan and she dealt with all her charges with a finesse and warmth and positive approach that was an inspiration. No case was too difficult; no patient too troublesome; no demand too intrusive and she was there for the difficult customer as much as for the quiet one. During the long night when I was lonely and afraid she was there with a warm smile and painkillers and tranquilliser and made me reasonably comfortable. I am indebted to her for the quality and depth of her care.

Various consultants and doctors appeared at the foot of my bed and made judgements. All this was recorded in the notes that I was allowed to read at my leisure. There was no secrecy and I appreciated the honesty and sharing. I was let out after a couple of days with a catheter down my penis and a bag strapped to my leg. As the fellow said, you'll get used to anything and even though it was uncomfortable and a bit distressing if was as much psychological as physical.

I made my own way home and was soon back in the thick of things when a bus passed me by and I was running after it with my bag bouncing against my leg. I have just heard from the hospital that the catheter will be taken out in three weeks time. I wish that it was sooner but I am glad that I have a date to aim for. It is a sobering lesson when ill health strikes for when we are well we seldom appreciate it. I do now and I am looking forward to 'bagless' days.

 All texts are ©2000