cmdreamer

“People who need help sometimes look a lot like people who don’t need help.” – Glennon Doyle

Let’s address the elephant in the room. It’s time to introduce Jean-Ralphio so you all can get to know him better since it seems like him and I might be in it for the long-haul. 

Jean-Ralphio is a foley catheter bag that was attached to my leg on February 23, 2023. Even though he’s only been around for about four weeks, it feels like just yesterday the doctors attempted a total of ten times to insert him correctly. While they were trying to figure out why every time they went to put him in, he was hitting resistance; I was laying down with my eyes shut so tightly I saw stars, praying to God to just take me already. Yes, I’m being slightly dramatic but I was genuinely bargaining with God at that moment. It felt like I was in my own personal hell.

A hell where there are five doctors all staring at my urethra with syringes and wires in their hands looking like I was a science experiment gone wrong. Normally, I like being able to stump people. You know, like the “wow she’s so strong despite being 5’2 and having a tendency to cry when feeling any type of emotion” kind of stumping people. Not the “wow she’s so anatomically wrong that her bladder is holding a dangerous amount of urine and none of our very innovative and proven methods are working to get this catheter in” kind of stumping people. 

Nevertheless, the doctors were experiencing that moment where they realize people are a lot more complicated than those test dummies they practiced on and they’re thinking “we never learned about this in med school.” 

So, there I am on the exam table praying to God and cursing every doctor that pushed me to get a second opinion after my doctor in 2019 sent me home with a pat on the back and a lackluster “sorry for your shitty situation. Sucks.” He didn’t actually say that, but it definitely felt like that’s what he meant. 

This is not the first time I’ve asked for help. First, was when I was a child which I already spoke about. Second, was when I was in my junior year of undergrad. I started having a harder time urinating (aka my stomach was starting to resemble a 3 month pregnancy belly daily). I won’t even spend too much time on this part because he is that inconsequential. I had another cystoscopy and he threw in a dilation to sweeten the deal. The dilation was an attempt to stretch my urethra to hopefully allow for more space for the urine to exit my bladder. Spoiler alert; it didn’t work. At least that time, I was under for the procedure so there was no pain. Just disappointment. 

Back to my new friend and urinary tract lifeline, Jean-Ralphio. He and I didn’t get along much in the beginning. He made it uncomfortable to sit down, walk, and if I laid down with the leg bag on, I worried the urine might go back up and cause infection. This made things difficult. Not to mention the violently ill morning that followed the placement of Jean-Ralphio. I felt like my body had been violated and was trying to get rid of anything that might remind it of what it had endured.

This enemies to lovers story stays in the enemy territory for about two weeks. Aside from the discomfort that I swore would last forever, I was truly concerned that any change in my symptoms was a sign that I had somehow gotten an infection from Jean-Ralphio. Something I managed to avoid for years was now not only a possibility, but a probability. There is a mental battle that comes along with a foley catheter. 

Aside from the looming fear of infection and constant awareness of his presence, Jean-Ralphio has some other unfavorable traits. For one, he comes with these velcro straps and a sticker that keeps his tubing in place. All of which cause itching and redness on my skin. He also smells like the vinegar I use to clean him and I swear I can smell it on me all the time (even when others say they can’t). Then, he comes with the occasional bladder spasm which feels like something is using my bladder as a trampoline and I have to replace him with the night bag any time I want to lay down (unless I’m okay with falling asleep sitting up…which I’ve gotten used to). 

On top of that, I have anxiety. Jean-Ralphio takes me way out of my comfort zone of control. I don’t get to choose when I go to the bathroom; he does. I don’t get to choose my level of discomfort; he does. I don’t get to choose what clothes I wear; he does. In the beginning it really felt like part of my autonomy as a human being was slipping away. In those moments, I completely understand why the elderly avoid doctors and hate the aging process. It sucks when your body doesn’t work right. 

However, relinquishing control is also liberating. I never experienced not worrying about spending 20+ minutes in the bathroom just to urinate. In all 24 years of my life (from what I can remember), my bladder was the antagonist in my story. It never occurred to me that it might be in pain too. It took me two weeks of crying, feeling sorry for myself, avoiding work and friends to get it out of my system and process it. Once I did, I started to let the feeling of gratefulness sink in that despite the years of dangerous urinary retention, my kidneys survived. I survived. 

I used to dance around telling this story with half-truths and vague details because the thought of feeling sorry for myself simply because I can’t pee when people have autoimmune diseases and cancer made me feel disgustingly unappreciative. But, I know now that I’ve been walking around with an invisible medical issue. One that yes, does sound small if you hear it in passing. Also, one that consumes every moment of my life. Every decision I have ever made has involved my bladder. I’ve skipped going out, drinking coffee, going to the beach, and wearing certain clothing because my bladder was either causing me physical pain or was distended past my usual excuse of bloating. Now, I can leave my house without taking an hour in the bathroom, hoping I’ll get enough urine out so I don’t feel sick while I’m traveling into the city for school or driving for longer than 20 minutes. 

And sure, Jean-Ralphio comes with some baggage (pun completely intended) but at the end of the day, he is saving my life.

*Disclaimer: I am NOT a doctor. Everything in this blog is my own experience*