I was all set to report on my crossing off an item on my nonexistent bucket list when I was surprised. Instead of prescribing my first overnight stay in a hospital after he removed four bladder stones and shrunk my enlarged prostate through green light laser surgery midday Wednesday, my urologist sent me home with a catheter attached to my left leg.
When she reads this Gilda will admonish me for TMI (too much information). But I am nothing if not open (Gilda says too open) about all my medical conditions. And let’s be honest, as a journalist I rarely would let social sensibilities get in the way of a good story (good in my mind, that is. I wouldn’t write about anyone else’s medical issues, but this one is mine and it’s near 4 am and I’ve been lying in bed for more than three hours without falling asleep, probably not as long as New York Yankees players will pass the night in wide awake sorrow over the Los Angeles Dodgers’ ability to capitalize on fifth inning Little League mistakes by Aaron Judge, Anthony Volpe and Gerrit Cole that turned a 5-0 lead into a tie game, eventually a World Series championship won by LA).
Getting back to my no revised non-bucket list posting.
Numerous times during our near 52 years of marriage my business travels domestically and internationally left Gilda alone at night. I cannot tell you how she slept those nights but my slumber during those trips was anything but tranquil. It would take hours before sleep overcame me. Sleep that lasted just for a few hours. Often I would turn on the hotel room TV, hoping to find a movie I could watch. I think one of those times I saw “Mannequin,” a 1987 movie (not worth your time but here’s an IMDB link— https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0093493/).
Just as often I would wake up around 3 am because hotels apparently try to save money by cutting off their HVAC when they believe most people would sleep through the discomfort. I rarely did.
It’s 6:22 am Thursday. Slept for a little more than two hours. Good thing I was awakened. The catheter bag was near full. In a few minutes I’ll try to return to sleep.
Some of you may have scratched your head wondering why I have been so open with my “condition.” Think of it as the equivalent of retail therapy, shopping as a means of bolstering one’s feelings during hard times. I’ve done that. Some people drink. Or do drugs. I don’t do either.
For me, writing has been my primary escape mechanism, whether it be from melancholy recalling relatives or friends that have passed, significant losses by sports teams I follow, or the depression and anxiety of our public discourse.
This is my third time having stones removed from my bladder. 2016. 2020. 2024. Presidential election years. Years Trump spit his bile. I quiver wondering my state of mind after November 5.
(Thursday afternoon update: Doc removed the catheter. No pickleball for a fortnight.)
