This past week has kind of sucked.
It all started on Wednesday…I had to get up early, which I hate. I am not a morning person. If I show up in the kitchen before 7 a.m. my husband is snickering at me, I’m assuming because I walk out with my eyes still closed and they stay that way until I groggily wander back to our bedroom with a cup of coffee. I actually can open the cupboard and get my cup of coffee all with my eyes still closed, I kid you not. So it’s Wednesday, I know I have to get up at an obscene time, and just so we’re clear, obscene time is anytime before 7 or 8 in the morning for me. I get up and do my usual wandering out to the kitchen, searching in desperate need for a good cup of jo to make me somewhat alert. I have a meeting with Little Miss Psychopath and Sir.E’s therapists and behavioural consultant at 8:15, which means I have to get the kids out the door and to school ridiculously early. This requires a horrendous amount of patience on my part, because NOBODY, and I mean NOBODY, is as slow as my Sir.E when it comes to mornings. I feel for the kid, I really do, his dad and I totally bamboozled (bamboozled HA) him in the morning department as far as I’m concerned.
On with the week though, it’s Wednesday morning we are out the door on time, I make it to my meeting only five minutes late. I sit down with the therapists and they have these amazing looking, aromatic, enormous cups of coffee. I space out and gaze longingly at their coffees remembering that I only got to drink half a cup and wondering how cold my leftover coffee will be in a few hours when I make it home. I’m pretty sure around ten minutes into the meeting I had tears in my eyes when I finally looked at our co-ordinater and said “Please could I have some coffee?”
Needless to say they both apologized profusely when it looked like I was going to start crying over not having coffee and rushed out to get me some :). The meeting ran late as there was a lot to discuss with two totally different kids on the spectrum and only 45 min to discuss them, but it ended well. Out I rushed to get another coffee and go to the clinic to get my pre-surgical screening blood work done. So I get to the clinic, take my number (25) and sit down to look at the current number (8). An hour later once I’ve almost peed myself and been poked, I’m on my way out of the parking lot, when, in classic T is to tired to function style, I slip and don’t realize I’m slipping until my head hits the ice underneath me. This is rather embarrassing and now, on top of the toe I broke at the beginning of the week, I’ve managed to injure my neck, hit my head, AND it looks like I’ve peed myself from laying in the puddle underneath me.
I go run the rest of my errands before picking up Little miss psychopath, and then it’s home time, and then to pre-school with her worker. Thank goodness Wednesday is almost over.
Okay so maybe it was just Wednesday that was out to get me.
But then this morning came. At 8:00 in the bloody morning, I had to go for my cystoscopy. I mean really? So there I was, once again, stumbling out of bed at an ungodly hour (6:45 a.m.) walking into the kitchen with Dirty Gentleman laughing at me, as I once again, with my eyes closed, reach for coffee. Then it’s 8 and I’m sitting in 1 of 3 chairs with a bunch of old guys, because, in case you didn’t know, a cystoscopy is an outpatient procedure where a urologist sticks a camera in your urethra. Yes. That’s right. A CAMERA into your urethra! When they took my heart rate, it was 165, bahahaha. It’s mostly men who see the urologist and mostly old men, so I think it’s safe to say I looked out of place. When everyone one else is a male and was born around ’52 and your a female born in the ‘
90’s ’80’s you don’t just look out of place, you feel out of place. They do put local anesthetic in, but it is still ridiculously uncomfortable. But once that anesthetic wears off, oh my goodness are you in for a surprise. For those of you who might have to get this done, the procedure itself isn’t to bad, it definitely hurts, but it is bearable. But afterwards, when you have to drink a ridiculous amount of water so that you can torture yourself, that part really sucks. They tell you to drink at least 8-10 oz of water every hour, I mean what am I a hippo! I HATE water. I hate drinking water. I hate having to pee water out. But now, I have to sit here and drink a bunch of water, and then go to the bathroom every 30 minutes and try to pee, which by the way is torture after a cystoscopy, so that I don’t get to many blood clots in my bladder. Yes, it’s blood I’m peeing out, well, bloody water TMI.
I think it’s safe to say I was the only one there who took a selfie 😀
Just because your getting a cystoscopy that’s no reason to neglect your brows! The gentleman to my right declined being included in my IG post.
And just so we’re clear, my cystoscope was not the flexible nice slim black one, it was the old school metal wand one, i.e.
medieval torture device, impalement system for your bladder…..
Have any of you had a cystoscopy? Was your experience better than mine?