It wasn’t a simple hookup.
Despite the lidocaine injected up my urethra, the Foley catheter’s progress up into my bladder felt torturous. Didn’t help that the little exam room felt very, very…chilly, or that I was naked from the waist down, covered by a paper ‘blanket’.
Yes, this was my fourth BCG wash. Just two more to go. Fortunately, Nurse C, who does the instillation for me, is almost my age and shares an appreciation for a lot of the same rock music.
We compare who we’ve seen and what albums and songs we particularly enjoy. Nurse C has one concert over me that has me really envious: her first concert was Carlos Santana.
I’ve never seen Santana in concert.
Laughing, she told me, “It was 1975. I was a teenager and big into disco. So, I worked all summer to pick strawberries, saving my money to buy a ticket to see KC and the Sunshine Band. Dad drove me and my girlfriend to the concert and then waited at a nearby coffee shop.
“KC and the Sunshine Band finished. We got up and headed for the exit. Then the next guy came on. I said, ‘Who is that,’ and turned to pay attention. It was Carlos Santana. I’d never heard him before. That changed everything for me.”
My bladder was about finished voiding the urine through the Foley by then. Glancing at the beaker collecting it, Nurse C said, “You have some good-looking urine, though. That looks great.”
I shook my head. “Man, that’s the worst pick up line I’ve ever heard.”
We laughed as she loaded up the TB solution and began feeding into my bladder.
Music. It can really help you get through life.
