Cystogram and sense of humour failure

Catheter remains after being told it can come out two weeks post-op....I am disappointed....

I drag my poor bruised body back to the hospital for a cystogram, which is a scan of my bladder and it's workings. First off, the radiographer says 'so we're scanning your left ureter today'. Uh no!! I say, I've been told it's my right one that has been cut. 'Oh well' she says, 'we'll soon find out' as if left and right were mere accidentals but I like to know the whys and wherefores having been told the reason  why it was cut. Thank god they aren't cutting off my leg or removing a diseased kidney - right, left, right, left, oh let's just toss a coin. Panic over, it is the right ureter and I see on the screen the stent posing ominously like a conductors baton in my waterworks.

Anyhow, it all seems to be flowing well with no leaks (I feel like I'm a washing machine and they are the plumbers), so I ask if they are going to remove my catheter now. She says they don't do that there and I'd need another appointment but she'd check for me to see if there was any space 'on the list' today. There isn't.

My heart sinks. So I go home with the plastic bag of piss still attached to my leg but hey ho, at least I know it's all flowing in the right direction. In a metaphorical way I am actually reflecting my predicament by feeling pissed off at the thought of another appointment on another day. It exhausts me.

Meanwhile in another department that morning I'm phoned by the gynecologist's secretary to say that my GP requested someone look at my wound while I'm at my other appointment. I know this is not how it works, so why didn't my GP know this, we all know departments don't talk to each other, a bladder is a bladder, a womb is an entirely different matter (not that I have one anymore).

The end result of the day is my sense of humour failure but underlying it all I still have a great deal of respect for those I meet and whose care I have received face-to-face. How can I not, I depend on them.