TL/DR: My bladder cancer surgery went well yesterday. Two tumors were removed. I’m at home in recovery and awaiting biopsy results. We don’t know when they’ll be in.

The longer version…

I’m standing up to type. I have an 18 French Foley catheter in me. It’s inflated with saline solution.

Sitting is hugely uncomfortable. Taking a few drugs for that but whenever I sit, an enormous urgent need to pee wells up and doesn’t end, even as I see urine going down into my collection bag.

All went great yesterday. First, just as we were leaving the house, the surgery called and asked if we could hurry in. If we could, my surgery would be moved up by an hour. Yes! Let’s go.

I head to the Self Check-in Kiosk. A young volunteer rushes over to help me. She’ll type for me. Okay. I read faster than her, so I answer before she finishes asking. We zip through.

My wife and I laugh about this whole process. Weird to have a self-check in that isn’t a self-check in. We’re sent over to another area. This is where my wife gets her information about waiting for me. We go into the waiting area. We’re only there for three minutes before Sophia arrives to take us back.

She confirms my name and birth and gives me my wrist band, asking me to confirm it’s right. I strip down and answer Sophia’s questions. Bowel movements, eating, drinking, then she left. Another nurse came in, Sarah, and asked questions, verified information, checked my BP and pulse, and put inflation leggings on my calves. I wondered to them, when will we get Tricorders? She laughs.

Everyone always looks at my wrist band and ask me to say why I was at the hospital – *TURBT* — Transurethral Resection Bladder Tumor with Gemcitabine bladder instillation — name, and birthday. Did I do the Hibiclens shower the night before? Under Sarah’s guidance, I wash with more wipes, get into my gown and the bed. BP and pulse taken, IV port installed. Then…waited.

My anesthesiologist, huge, grinning guy, came in with his questions and explanations. It’s a three-minute drill.

My surgeon comes in. She looks like a little blue and raspberry Samurai warrior in her surgery garb.

Another nurse came in, Sarah. She was wheeling me to the operating room. During the ride, I mentioned that she was my second Sarah of the day. “Yes, it was a popular name during the eighties,” she says.

I reply, “Yes, Michael was popular when I was born.”

Sarah answers, “I was going to be Michael. They thought I was going to be a boy.”

“Were you named after a specific Sarah?”

“No, my brother picked my name. He said he would only play with me if I was named Sarah.”

We arrived at the surgery and introduced to more team. Slid myself from the bed to the operating table. Ugh. Much less comfortable. “There’s a hole in the table,” Chris says as I move. “Aim your rearend for that hole.”

Alrighty.

Monitors were attached. The anesthesiologist said, “I’m administering your anesthesia now. Deep breaths.”

Three deep breaths later, I was gone.

Awakening, I think, oh my God, I have to pee. I’m scrambling to get out of bed. Except there’s a bar in my way.

A nurse grabbed me on the other side. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Go back to sleep.” She pushed me back down. I remembered, oh, yeah. I’m at the hospital. Man, do I have to pee, though.

I’m in the recovery area. Looking around. “How long am I going to be here?” I ask the nurse. She glances at the clock on my monitor. “Another twenty minutes.” I checked the time so I can track it myself.

Other recoverees are wheeled in. We’re half-surrounded by curtains and equipment but I can see three. I can’t see Grace, but Grace doesn’t hear well, so I hear everything that they’re telling Grace.

I’m in space 18. The guy in 19 is awake. I wave at him. He seems to be looking at me. I wave again. He waves back. I smile, give a thumbs up. He does the same, then lays back and closes his eyes. They wheel him back out ten minutes later.

A new woman is wheeled into 17. Her bare shoulders and upper chest are exposed. I wonder what’s going on with her. A nurse or tech wheels in an x-ray machine and tells her that she needs to get some shots. I expect the curtains to be pulled. They’re not. I look away, trying to give 17 some privacy. She’s wheeled out a little later.

I check the time. Still ten minutes left. Man, recovery time is going so slowly. Classic first-world complaint.

Sarah the second returns to wheel me back to my room. “How long have you been doing this, Sarah?” I ask.

“Three years.”

I nod. She’s a vet.

She maneuvers me back into my original little room SUU 3. Paula, another nurse, comes in to begin my post-op care instructions. She asks if I have anyone with me. “Yes, my wife.” Paula goes out and has someone go find my wife in the waiting area.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m dressing. Absorbing instructions. My penis is attached to my groin’s right side via a tube stuck on my thigh so the tube and collecting bag can go on my right, because that’s how I get out of bed, on the right side. It’s a bummer because I hang to the left. Sorry if that’s TMI.

I’m given mesh underwear to put on. A pad is thrust in there to absorb bleeding, and there is bleeding. Then I dress.

Paula explains how to use the catheter. I’m familiar with it. The one difference this time is that I was given chemo. Gemcitabine was instilled. It’ll take 48 hours to flush. I’m instructed to flush twice after emptying the bag, and to be very careful because of the gemcitabine.

Four medicines have been prescribed for pain, the urge to pee, and stool softeners.

I later read two tumors removed. Largest was a posterior papillary bladder tumor measuring 2cm x 3cm.

We’re back home by 4 PM. I have a light lunch, then read and nap for several hours.

It often burned when I urinated last night and this morning. That’s faded a lot, thank dog.

Per Paula’s instructions, I showered last night. My penis tip was caked with drying blood, and pubic hairs were trapped in it. Once that was washed off, a lot of discomfort went away.

I’m due to remove the Foley catheter on Monday. Get in the shower, cut a valve off, let the saline drain, jerk the catheter out.

It’s good to have something to look forward to.