Shaking the tree, or peeing on it.

I am home from the hospital but not after they tried to feed me pureed roast beef. It comes molded into a little shape reminiscent of something someone thinks looks like a slice from a roast. Ew.

I am home again. Thank god. As I mentioned I was just on my way out of the big house when I was informed that my kidneys were in distress. After having been released from the IV pole I was not only hooked up to it again but chained to the bed with a foley in my bladder. It is possible to get up and walk around with that thing, you just have to carry around a large bag of pee. Combined with the IV pole it becomes an elaborate interpretive dance to get into the bathroom without yanking on something vital. The foley was done in an attempt to decompress my kidneys, assuming the bladder wasn't doing it's job of relieving them.

My urologist is a good guy. He came in after the holiday, saw that I was scheduled for yet another ultrasound before any procedure was decided on. He said, "that's stupid. I'm going to go shake the tree." I was then second in line for nephrostomy tubes. Yay, Dr. Gentile. Tres gentil.

So now I have more tubes and bags. I'll digress just a moment here to say that I have mixed feelings sharing all of this with everyone. Do I want to show up at a family function and have relatives checking to see if my bags show under my clothes? What happened to suffering in silence? When I was an intern I had a senior resident who I did a floor rotation with. We were good friends and the nature of the job required us to be in each other's presence almost constantly. She had a miscarriage on our rotation and I was none the wiser. I'm not clueless either. I can read people's moods pretty well (In fact I'd make a good spy but I can't overhear conversations when there's background noise. Jason Bourne's job is safe.). I admire that kind of stoicism but I possess it not. Everyone knows when I have a hangnail.

So I let it hang out there. What the hell, I am who I am. It gets tricky with patients though who find out I've been ill. It hasn't gotten intrusive because I just stick cheerfully to the facts, answer only what is asked and move on. It would be very much trickier if I were someone's primary care physician or oncologist. Sometimes it's good to be just an allergist.

Now that I've shared that little nugget with y'all I'll just say that I am now the recipient of more bags than a recycling center. I was told by the PA before the procedure that they would be totally discreet under my clothing. If I ever find out where she parks her car I'm going to empty one of them onto her front seat and see how discreet she finds it. The tubing is long enough to hang to my feet and each bag holds 600 cc's of pee. "Hey, that's almost 2 beers each side," said Alain. Medical things need to be translated into terms Canadians can understand: beer. On the plus side, I can now pee standing up. Can't wait for a tailgate party.

I was totally outdone by my sister in the black humor category with the following email. Kate, if you don't like me posting this, git yer own blog. Frankly I'm proud of ya, Katie:

Beth,
I was wondering if you would like me to make a call to the Glad bag people
and look into a sponsorship?
You could be on Top Chef! "After making the alligator soup over the
radiator in my room, I will safely empty my bags using the NEW osti combo
bag set. This challenge was a really tough one for me. I have never worked
with alligator before and I wish someone had told me to kill the thing
before I tried making the soup. I just don't want to be sent home, what
will my colleagues think. How will I keep my sponsorship with Glad and
their fabulous Combo Osti bag set?"

Well done, care to top it Ted?

Dr. Bif