What's COOKING in The CATHETER CALDROUN?

 I am angry. The only problem is I don't know at what or whom. All the same, I am fuming. I want to break something. Hit something so hard it shatters into a million pieces. Hoping one of those pieces has the relief I am desperately crying out for. M friend, I just don't know if I can do this anymore. I want to be the face of endurance and strength but every passing day brings me closer to embracing and making the end my friend and ally. 


I know I am letting many people down. I'm letting myself down in many ways too but I just can't stand against the pain any longer. I don't want to face another day of mustering every ounce of "fuerza" inside me and forging onward. Onward, Christian soldier...


Maybe if I put a face to this excruciating agony, maybe then you will understand what I am standing up against on a daily basis. 


My tumor has grown to the extent and proportion that it has created a complete blockage and stricture in my urethral canal. Where you and I were created to urinate with ease from, no longer an option or luxury for me. Yet my body, after thirty-nine years of living and daily flowing out of one place and direction now finds a "Do Not Enter" signposted in crimson bold letters. Still the urine persists and insists in coming out as it was created by the almighty to function. Imagine the pain and discomfort at having a gushing flow racing and pressing up against a brick wall only to finally manage having two or three drops make it out of you. Have I painted a vivid enough picture for you?

The chemotherapy drugs I have injected into my body on a weekly basis have turned the liquids and fluids inside me into a fiery and hot concoction. My urine feels like fire coming out of me. Or better yet, it feels like passing a thousand sharp knives through the smallest slit in your body. Every drop that makes it out is like a stab wound against my tender flesh. Maybe I should be thankful that only two or three drops make it out because I would hate to experience what it would be like to have a thousand knives or razor blades exiting me all at once. I remember vividly when this was the daily and often practice. Before the stricture and blockage, during my first round of radiation and chemo., I had to endure urinating what I have described to you here. In order to spare my family and friends the sound of my hellish screams, I'd stuff a rag into my mouth or cry into the crook of my arm. Taking a piss with copious tears was the norm for me then. Now I have a suprapubic catheter installed to help the urine flow on a daily basis. Unfortunately for me, the catheter must be changed and placed every four to six weeks. Thus far I've had it done twice (today having been the unfortunate and hellish second time).


Mark my words when I tell you here in writing as I have already made it known verbally to my uncaring urology team, I WILL NOT UNDERGO ANOTHER CATHETER CHANGE unless I am unconscious. I will never again subject my body to the horror I endured today at the hands of a medical staff who either thought my piercing screams and uncontrollable tears an act, a coward unable to man up and take it like a man. Of yeah? Fuck you and your mother who birthed you is all I have to say! I WILL NOT UNDERGO ANOTHER CATHETER CHANGE while I am still conscious and alert. I just won't. The pain was absolutely hellish and any procedure that causes me to cry out: "Take me home, Lord, if this is what I have to put up with!!!?" I will not be subjected to without a fight. And fight I will. Fight or Flight. I'd rather fight while I still have it in me to do. 

While I am remorseful at having lashed out and physically become agitated to the point of becoming physically violent and defiant, I stand by my decision. While I still have strength in me to fight I will do so and object to further pain. This is the cross I must bear but I simply cannot be led like  lamb to the slaughter in silence. While Jesus had it in him not cry out and never utter a word, I on the other hand have not achieved the level of suffering which He did and modeled for mankind on the cross. I guess the anger stems from my inability to perfectly imitate my Savior and thus feel like I have let Him, myself, and the myriad of others who look to me to be he rock of Gibraltar during these given situations. All the morphine in the world was not able to assuage and keep my pain at bay. I guess it has a mind of its own.  

Jesus, help me. Put your strong arms around me and comfort me as you alone know how to do.


Crooked Notes by Idilio Rivera is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.