№24

24 operations later and this was the first time I really realized that this cancer is out of my control.

The day began as usual…and by usual, I mean normal for a procedure. I get up early, say goodbye to my wife and kids, and hop into the car. I arrive at the hospital and check myself in at 6:30am. The admitting nurse begins to tell me where the ward is, she doesn’t know that I go through this every 3 months, I let her finish and make my way.

“My friend, you’re back again?” says the ward nurse, “yes” I reply. We begin with the ton of repetitive forms…why don’t I make my life easy and get copies of these?

The anaesthetist arrives and conducts her ‘pre-check’, a bit of a joke considering the conversation revolves around my family life. She tells me I am second in the queue — good news, I won’t have to wait long before I can eat.

I get changed and wait for my turn. The theatre staff arrive and announce that they are here to collect Mr. McGorian. Into the bed, and off we go. I am wheeled into the theatre and met by very familiar faces. They ask me to move over to the operating bed, I oblige. The anaesthetist begins to look for a vein, another places sticky probes over my chest. I feel tap tap tap, “this is going to sting” — I’ve heard this before. My arm goes cold as the anaesthetic begins to run. I fight the drug while continuing with our superficial conversation — no success, my eyes close shut and I’m out.

I wake from the procedure, this hurts…but more than usual. I don’t like this. I need something for the pain. I look around to call the nurse and request pain medication. They give me something — it does nothing. “It will take time to absorb into your system Sir, give it 15minutes”. I obey.

The pain doesn’t subside. I feel my body starting to sweat as the pain intensifies. I don’t know what to do to ease it. I eventually climb out of the bed and just stand there shaking. The position provides relief, but this is not a long-term solution. I have just had anaesthetic and am light-headed. I will not be able to stand like this until the next morning (when they usually remove the catheter). I ring the bell to call the nurse but the keypad doesn’t light up as it should…the bell is broken. Do I shout for a nurse? No. Something prevents me from causing a scene. I can’t move away from my bed as I have a catheter and irrigation system rigged up to my genitals. Time goes by and the nurse eventually appears. I ask for something stronger as the pain is not getting any better. She disappears and returns with another drug. It is connected to my drip and slowly enters my body. It hardly does anything to help ease the pain.

I’m becoming unreasonable now. The pain is building to a point where I can no longer be civil. The nurse comes through to check how I am but I lose my cool. “Take this catheter out of me” I say. “We cannot do that Sir”…we argue.

I tell her that if she does not take the catheter out of me, I will do it myself. I know I can’t take it though; there is a balloon inflated inside of me which prevents the catheter from simply falling out. To pull it out without deflating the balloon would have catastrophic consequences. She calls my bluff.

I demand my cellphone so I can call the doctor directly. We argue again, but she eventually agrees and goes to get it.

I phone the doctor’s receptionist and tell her that this catheter better be removed as I am not going to endure it for another 24 hours. Time passes and the nurse arrives with a message from the doctor (who is in theatre), “we cannot remove the catheter”. I respond, “I am not asking you to remove it, I am telling you to remove it”. She tells me that the only way it will be removed is if I am signed out of the hospital. “Bring me the forms” I say. “You can’t sign yourself out Sir, you have just had anaesthetic and are not allowed to sign any legal documents”. I call my wife, she can sign me out. She tells me that she will only be there in an hour. I must wait. This pain is unbearable. Why do I have to endure this? What did I do to deserve this? I am angry.

My wife arrives. I tell her to sign me out as this catheter is coming out. We argue.

I tell her that it is my body and I have the right to do as I wish. She submits. The nurse is told to bring the forms. She disappears again to consult with the doctor (who is still in theatre). She returns with a piece of paper; a note from the doctor:

“The removal of the catheter will put pressure on the bladder which is weak from the procedure. The pressure could cause a perforation in the bladder wall which will result in the cancer cells being able to spread throughout the body. The risk is too great”.

I look at my wife with despair. I know what she is going to say, and I know that she is right. The catheter cannot come out.

I am a prisoner and totally helpless…

This is the first time in my almost 8 years of dealing with cancer that I realise this cancer is totally out of my control. Up until that point, each procedure was perceived to be voluntary on my part. I voluntarily went to the hospital, and I voluntarily had the procedure. This was now different. My one bit of control was removed with the realisation that my actions could have far severe consequences versus the initial relief of pain.

I physically broke down and sobbed…

I did not sleep that night; the physical pain was too great. The stronger medication prescribed by my doctor had worn off about an hour after it was injected into my system. I felt like I was in a lunatic asylum being tortured as each minute ticked by without reprieve.

My doctor believes I am becoming immune to the pain medication as I was pumped with very high doses and yet still felt the pain with such intensity.

I have never been fearful of an operation until now.

I do not know how I am going to prepare for №25 (which is in 3 months’ time). The sheer volume of procedures and resections of tumours has left scaring in my bladder and urethra. My body is angry with me for having to undergo this, I am angry too. But what choice do I have?