T.U.R.P. A sequel to Nobody promised life would be easy by Warren Fox.

Transcription

1 T.U.R.P. A sequel to Nobody promised life would be easy by Warren Fox. When Lou died in November 2007 it left a big hole in my life. We used to sing together but now I was left without his support. Before he died I wrote a parody about him which he liked a lot. That Wild Colonial Boy. There was a wild colonial boy, Lou Shilton was his name. He's born and bred in North Shore, and that's where Lou earned his fame. He was his father's younger son, his mother's pride and joy. And dearly did the girls all love, that wild colonial boy. At the early age of 16 years, Lou left his parents' home. All over Auckland's northern shores, he was inclined to roam. He rode a great big Thunderbird, this was his only toy. A terror on the North Shore was, that wild colonial boy. One morning on the highway as Lou Shilton rode along. And listening to his Thunderbird, his motor hummed a song. Out sprang the three traffic cops, Black Tracker, Tollich, Lovejoy. The three set out to capture him, that wild colonial boy. Pull over now Lou Shilton, for you see we're three to one. I will never surrender, he said, as he gave his bike the gun. He dropped down a cog and wrapped it on, this trick he did employ. They won't get within a bull's roar, of that wild colonial boy. Around the Milford back roads where Lou Shilton made his run. They could only gaze in wonder, when Lou Shilton did the ton. He over revved and threw a rod, his engine he did destroy. And that was how they captured him, that wild colonial boy. Explanation:- Thunderbird = a make of motorcycle. Gave his bike the gun = Full speed. Dropped down a cog = changed down a gear. Wrapped it on = Turning the twist grip to open the throttle. Within a bull's roar = Won't get close. Threw a rod = blew up the engine. During this time, at my requests, I was having six monthly PSA (prostate specific antigens) tests. As the readings slowly started to rise, which could be an indication of cancer of the prostate, the doctor sent me for a biopsy. A not very nice procedure where they poke a camera into your bottom and have a look around and take six sample from the prostate with a needle that is attached to this apparatus. The samples are sent off for analysis. Two weeks later I'm told that it is all clear and there is no sign of cancer. As my prostate slowly grows larger, then so does the PSA reading and eventually the doctor sends me back for a second biopsy. Once again it comes back clear of cancer. After awhile, on odd occasions, I find it difficult to start urinating when I go to the toilet in the middle of the night. The first time it happened I paced up and down for awhile until I was able to do little bits at five minute intervals until it was all gone. Then urinating comes back to normal again. I reported this to my doctor and he sent me back for a third biopsy. This time the Urologist agreed with me that the high PSA reading was only due to the massive size of my prostate. (His words not mine.) So he put me on a new drug called Finasteride to shrink my prostate. This did make it slowly shrink but for the first few weeks it made me feel very uncomfortable when urinating. The uncomfortable feeling did slowly go away but I developed terrible itching all over my back which got so bad that they had to take me off the Finasteride drug. Naturally my prostate started to grow again and on the 20 th of December 2010, I woke at 2am

2 with a strong urge to go to the toilet but to my horror nothing would come out. I tried all the methods I could think of that had worked in the past but this time nothing worked. At five o'clock in the morning, Margarita came out of the bedroom and asked what was wrong. I told her that I couldn't pass urine and was in some pain. We tried ringing for help but only got answer phone messages. Eventually we got through to our local clinic and were told we could have an appointment at 12 noon locally or we could go to the Wellsford clinic at 9am. I couldn't believe that they didn't treat me as urgent and take me straight away. We chose the Wellsford clinic which is at least half an hour drive away and so Margarita drove me there. We arrived at ten minutes to nine and I was hoping that Dr Jason would take me straight away but he just continued with his present patient and then another one. I was so distressed that I was pacing up and down the passage trying to forget the horrible feeling in my bladder. When he finally did take me at twenty past nine and I told him what was wrong he spent a lot of his time taking my blood pressure and writing things down in his notes. Eventually he told me he was going to put a catheter into 'my old fellow'. (his words not mine). This was a very unpleasant experience and it took four separate movements to completely get it in. Then the urine drained away and I had total relief, thank goodness. I was told to lie there for half an hour and then he removed the catheter and that felt unpleasant as well. We had to pay an extra twenty four dollars for the visit because of the catheter insertion. Then I was told I could go home. As soon as I got into the car I had a strong urge to go to the toilet so I raced back into the clinic toilet but nothing came out. I concluded that maybe it was because I needed to have a drink so that there was something to come out. Just how wrong could I be? All the way home I kept feeling that I needed to urinate. As soon as I got home I rushed into the toilet but nothing happened so I had a drink of water but this only made it worse. The feeling got progressively, unbelievably bad so we tried to ring the Wellsford Clinic but kept getting an answer phone and our messages were not returned. Eventually we rang their emergency number and Margarita told them that I was in distress so they said the Doctor would ring me back soon. He never did. By now I was going into spasms which were trying to force the urine out but it had a blocked exit and caused terrible pain each time it happened. So Margarita rang the emergency number again and told the nurse that I was in great distress. The nurse said pop him in the car and bring him straight in. We arrived at 4pm and I was put in the nurses' station to wait for the doctor. And wait I did. Every time the spasms came they were worse than the time before and I was crying out with pain. This was upsetting for the nurses as well and they kept going to see Dr Jason. Then they would come back and say He's coming soon. He came at 5-10 pm. An hour and ten minutes after my arrival. I don't know why he didn't drop everything and come and put the catheter in and then go back to his other jobs, but although I was angry, I was also very vulnerable, so I said nothing. Then he put the catheter in again with the same four painful movements and then the pain in my bladder went away. After another half hour and another twenty four dollars I was told that I could go home and that the district nurse could remove the catheter in three days time. This was the start of what we were later to called 'My Month Of Hell'. Wearing a catheter all the time and especially in bed was horrendous, awkward and distasteful. All the things that I had taken for granted were now difficult. Bending down, sitting on the toilet, getting dressed and sleeping on one side to mention just a few. However on the third day, 23 rd December, the district nurse removed the catheter and I was free again. At first it hurt when I went to the toilet but by Friday night the pain stopped and everything worked perfectly when I went to bed at midnight. At 2am I suddenly woke up with a strong urge to urinate but when got to the toilet it wouldn't come out again and nothing would make it work. I kept trying until 5am when I gave up trying. After the bad experience which we had had with the doctor we bypassed him and rang for the ambulance to take me to hospital. Besides it was Christmas day and everything was closed. The ambulance duly arrived and after asking me a few questions we took off to Whangarei Hospital which took close to an hour and I was in pain all the way but when we arrived they took me straightaway and the nurse put the catheter in immediately. This was done in one single movement which hardly hurt at all. I was surprised at how easily she had done it.

3 After they gave me some breakfast they said that I could go home. I didn't know how I could do that as I was miles from home and had no transport. I rang Margarita and although she is very nervous about driving in heavy traffic or on the main highways we had no other option so she came up and got me. The hospital told me to go to the nearest chemist which would be open for half an hour from one o'clock to get some antibiotic pills which I must take. Being Christmas day everything was closed. By half past one we had the antibiotic pills and paid the $5 surcharge then realize that we were both hungry but nothing was open. Not McDonald's or Kentucky Fried Chicken or supermarkets. Nothing. So we drove down the main road looking for somewhere to buy some food and by chance we found an Indian restaurant that was open so we dived in there and had boiled fish for our Christmas dinner. Then we went home. Gradually a pain started getting worse at the point where the tube comes out and over that day and night it got unbearable. So the next day when the neighbours came up to their holiday house, next door, they said that if I had to go back to the hospital that they would come up to Whangarei the next day and bring me home. So that night, the day after Christmas day, we rang the ambulance again and they took me back to the hospital. After examining me they said that the end of my penis had become ulcerated and so they put some gel on it and said to keep taking the antibiotics. This was about 10pm and then they said that I could go home. So I said that I had no way of getting home until the morning as the neighbours, who were coming to get me, were drinking but would be up in the morning. As all the hospital staff were wearing tee shirts with Don't drink and drive printed on them, they agreed with me but they said that all the wards were full. I said I would just sit in a chair until morning but they said they could do better than that. So they left me in the bed in the examination room with the curtain pulled around me. All night long patients were coming in with the most horrific injuries and I had to listen to this all through the night and to make things worse my watch stopped as the battery had run flat. There were no windows or clock in this room and so I had no idea what part of the night it was. A male nurse came around and told me it was 3am and did I need anything and I asked for a blanket. When morning thankfully dawned, they gave me breakfast and changed the urine bag and told me to make arrangements to go home. I rang Margarita and she said she would be coming up with the neighbour, very soon. With my watch still not working I wait and wait and am very pleased when Margarita and Terry, the neighbour, walk around the corner. I try to say goodbye to the staff but they are 'preoccupied'. So I leave unannounced. The district nurse is assigned to me and comes around every few days to attend to my needs which are plenty. Rashes, infections, blockages in the flow. Sometimes I go into spasms and the urine flow comes out faster than the tube can cope, so it flows around the outside and I have wet pants. Horrible! On one occasion the tube became detached during the night and wets the bed. Sleeping is a problem also as I have to lay on my right side only. The catheter was due to come out after several days but the district nurse suggests that I would still have the same problem all over again so she makes me an appointment with a different doctor. This time I go to see David Hassan and I tell him about the spasms so he gives me some pills to suppress them and that problem is then fixed. Then on Monday the 17 th we go to see David again and we discuss what to do in the long term about my ongoing dilemma. I had been trying to avoid an operation, even suggesting that I go back on the Finasteride pills to shrink my prostrate but I am advised that the itch problem would probably come back worse than before. So I agree to have the operation called a T.U.R.P. (Transurethral resection of the prostate) whereby they ream out the prostate to allow a normal urine flow. David then rings the urology clinic for an interview and we are told that I can see them in 2 months time. That's too long a time. I'll probably have jumped off the Auckland Harbour bridge by then. I tell him. Then I ask would it be sooner if I paid for the first visit. He rings them back and they then say I can see them tomorrow and it will cost $180. They have had a cancellation. I agree to this new arrangement and we duly go to see Tony Nixon on Tuesday, up at Whangarei. Tony agrees that I need a T.U.R.P. and tells me what is involved and the percentage of chances of dying during the operation. It will take about one to one and a half hours and you will need to be in hospital for two to three days. I agree and ask when I can have it done.

4 Six months he says. Can't wait that long, I say. I'd probably have jumped off the harbour bridge by then. What if I pay for it. Do you have health insurance? he asks. No but I'll find the money somehow. Two days. I've had a cancellation. (I wonder why people cancel their operation. Do they get better, or die, or what. The Harbour Bridge comes to mind.) I look at Margarita and say Can we go fifty fifty on the cost. and she says Yes. I'll take it, I tell Tony. Do you want to think about it first? he asks. Nope. I want to get it over and done with as soon as possible. The less I think about it the better. This means that the operation will be on Thursday the 20 th of January, one month after the trouble began on the 20 th of December. It has been a month of hell. Blockages, infections, pain, rashes, spills, mobility problems and indignity. I hate the thought of a tube coming out of me. It feels disgusting. Jumping off bridges may sound a bit flippant but I am at a very low mental state. I can't even do ordinary things like bending down to give our cat her dinner. We tell the neighbours and Elaine says that Terry will take me up to the hospital on Thursday. The next day she came over to sadly tell us that Terry has broken his ankle and was in Auckland hospital and she had to go back home. Margarita has heard of a volunteer organization called 'Linking Hands' who will take us up there free or for a small donation. So on Thursday morning we pack a bag and we are joined by another patient who is also traveling with us. She is going to the Whangarei hospital. I'm booked into a private hospital called Kensington. On arrival I'm greeted like a long lost friend and we are shown to my room where I'm dressed in a hospital gown and put to bed while they tell me what is going to happen to me, more or less. Then I'm told that I am going to have an E.C.G (electrocardiogram) because I'm over 60 years of age. (I'm 79) Afterwards she tells me I see you had a heart attack at some time. No never. I reply. Well this says you have. I think I would have noticed. Then Margarita has to leave me as she is returning home with the Linking Hands car which is about to leave. Next I am taken down in the lift, bed and all, to the operating room where I meet the anaesthetist who tells me what he will be doing for my comfort. How are you feeling? he asks. Terrified. I reply. You'll be alright. What are you worried about? Don't like pain, mostly. You won't feel anything. Promise? Well just the injection in your spine. An epidural. By the way, don't worry about them saying that you had a heart attack. These machines often throw up weird results. When I wake up I'll probably ask if the operation was a success. Next, they ask me if I would mind walking into the the theatre. So I walk in and I am asked to sit on the side of the bed where the nurse asks me what I'd be doing if I wasn't here today. I tell her I would probably be mowing the lawn. Then they say that they are going to put a drip in my arm. I shudder at this because when I had my appendix operation the junior doctor cut my arm with a knife four times before he got the drip in and it hurt like hell. But no. This time they just put a needle in which hardly hurt at all. What kind of lawnmower have you got? the nurse asks me. It's a battery operated electric mower. Then they ask me to sit up on the bed with my knees drawn up to my chest and they have four goes at getting the needle into my spine. This isn't too good but I get through it. On the fourth try they say we've got it now. It's all over. You were telling me about your motor mower. the nurse continues. Yes it has a 24 volt battery which gives it a lot more pow You can wake up now Warren. Your operation is over and it was successful. It took two hours and

5 twenty minutes. A lot longer than predicted. Usually it takes about one to one and a half hours but your prostate was massive. Can you move your feet? I do so and say, Yes. How do you feel? O.K. Fine. After laying there for awhile I am taken upstairs in the lift and back to my room which is to be my home for the next five days. They have put a new catheter in which is made of better material than the previous ones and it doesn't give me any trouble at all. This one has three tubes. One to drain the urine out, one to inflate a small balloon that stops the catheter from coming out and now a third one to flow water in, to flush the debris away. I spend a lot of time watching the bubbles flowing through the tube into the bag. One of the nurses asks me if I'm having fun and I reply that I have to do something to keep myself amused. I have no visitors but Margarita rings me three time each day which cheers me up a lot. Also, Bev Short from the Country Music rings me one time, which I thought was kind of her and helps me feel better. I'm also visited each day by my surgeon Tony Nixon to check on my progress. He wants me to stay in hospital until the bleeding stops. Everyone else is very good to me too and the cleaning lady stops and has a chat each morning. On the fourth day things are improving and I'm told that I may be going home tomorrow by the look of things. On Monday morning, the 5 th day, the nurse comes around early and asks if I'd like the catheter taken out and I say, You bet. She wraps a hot towel around my penis and says, Hold this. and removes the catheter and I hardly feel a thing. Why couldn't everyone else have done that. I would have been spared all that pain I had suffered in the past. Once it's removed, I exclaim, I'm free. I'm free! And it feels like it too. Then I'm told to see if I will be able to urinate and if I can, to do three lots and to keep them in a container to be tested. If the test is OK then I'll be able to go home. This I do successfully. I pace up and down the passage from time to time. Then the phone rings and I rush back into my room. Margarita is on the line. I tell her of the progress I've made just as the nurse comes to do the test. While I'm still talking to my wife on the phone, the nurse comes back and gives me the thumbs up sign so I ask Margarita to come and get me. She says that this will take awhile as she has to ring 'Linking Hands' but after a long long wait she arrives and we have a big hug and head off home. Things go pretty well over the next few weeks although I feel some urgency to rush to the toilet. There is also some blood and a few clots coming through as I was told to expect. But the strange thing is there has been no pain. That is except for when the bills come in. Anaesthetist = $1080. Surgeon = $2030. Hospital = $9059. Total = $ But we are not complaining as we chose to pay so I wouldn't have to wait. My health has now returned to normal but the doctor says that my prostate will continue to grow. As we age, the body produces less hormones so the prostate enlarges to compensate and in so doing it strangles the urethra stopping the urine flow and the rest is history or misery. They say I'll be OK for about another ten years before I need another TURP. Wow! How do I stop the clock. Elaine and Terry have a holiday bach next door to us. You remember Terry picked me up from the Whangarei Hospital. Well one day I went over there to see them but the house is all open and deserted. When they come home again I tell them that it was the 'Mary Celeste' all over again and Elaine asks, What's the Mary Whatever? So I Googled this information for her. A sailing ship, the Mary Celeste, left New York in 1872 bound for Italy with a cargo of 1701 barrels of industrial alcohol. On board was Captain Briggs, his wife Sarah, his two year old daughter Sophia and a crew of seven. Later the Dei Gratia, discovered her drifting unmanned and apparently abandoned heading toward the Strait of Gibraltar. There was a board of inquiry which was unable to find a satisfactory conclusion so the case was dropped. This would have left the Mary Celeste forgotten about except Arthur Conan Doyle who was starting out as a writer wrote a fictional story called the Marie Celeste and added a few extra bits such as untouched breakfasts with still-warm cups of tea on the cabin table. This of course was fiction. Having obtained all this information, I decided to write a song about it and came up with the following which I sang at the country music meetings to enthusiastic applause.

6 Mary Celeste. The year was Eighteen Seventy Two, This story has been told. About an abandoned sailing ship, with cargo in her hold. Seventeen hundred barrels, Industrial alcohol. Little did they realise how this story would unfold. The ship was bound for Genoa, in northern Italy. But she was found abandoned, far away out at sea. They sent a boarding party, they thought they'd better check. There was no one in the cabins, and no one on the deck. They found that drifting sailing ship, abandoned on the sea. What happened to the Mary Celeste, became a mystery. Captain Briggs, his wife and child, and members of the crew. All on board had disappeared, all gone without a clue. The captain's wife was Sarah, and Sophie she was two. Both of them had vanished, along with all the crew. They had a board of inquiry, they all had done their best. But once they'd seen the evidence, the case was put to rest. Our story would have ended but, for Arthur Conan Doyle. He wrote an exciting story, about Captain Briggs and all. He called his ship the Marie Celeste, a ghost ship on the main. But what happened to all on board, they never could explain (Chorus) Doyle made this adventure up, when he was still a youth. He based it on this story but, was liberal with the truth Was there a fire from down below, that caused them all to flee. Or did some pirate board the ship, and throw them in the sea. Was there a swirly waterspout, or creatures from the deep. That came aboard the ship at night, and took them in their sleep. Was there a mysterious illness, that caused them all to die. Or was there a flying saucer, that came down from the sky. (Chorus) (Chorus)