pissing over pickup trucks and prostate surgery

Where to start -- the reason for this procedure I guess. Couldn't piss. Ultra sensitive to the medications, so it was surgery or nothing.

Couple of tips and personal observations if you are ever faced with this:
If you don't normally wear "tighty whiteys", send your wife to buy some and some Always "Infinity" overnight panty liners ---- you're gonna need em.

It ain't a quickie in and out thing. Overnight stay in hospital (at least). Check your dignity at the door on the way in and hope for pretty nurses who know what the hell they are doing. I had one who tried three times and still could not get an IV line in. 4 days later now and I'm sporting a hairless patch and a nice purple bruise on my left arm. Make 'em shave the spot where they tape the IV down -- hurts like a sonofabitch when they pull that godawful sticky fuckin tape off, and all your hair with it. Can you spell "Brazilian Wax"?

Best thing about the procedure was the Versed shot prior to the operation. Hidy ho boys, best file a flight plan.

Then you wake up thinking, well, that wasn't too bad, until you get a look at the "foley" catheter hooked up to your nether regions. Looks like a drunken plumber had his way with you. Tubing everywhere. Plugged into places you don't want to think about. Shit running in and out of you that you really don't want to look at. I was sure I was bleeding to death as I watched the nurse dump container after container of yuck that had run into and out of me.

You're gonna lie flat on your back regardless of how you usually sleep. Get used to it. There's just too much shit plugged into your front to allow a rollover.

Not a whole lot of pain, if you don't wiggle your dickie, just uncomfortable as hell. Sorta feels like somebody crammed a baseball up your ass. This feeling of needing to take a dump may hang around for a few days - did with me. So far.

Not a lotta pain, until the cute little nursie bounces in at 6:00am - after you have laid there all night, spread eagle, with your eyes locked in the open position scared to death of what's coming next and proceeds to pull out, what, by now, seems to be about a one inch diameter piece of pex pipe from that little dickie you've always been so proud of. They should offer you a stick to clamp between your pearly whites so you don't clip the end of your tongue off as this happens. Dignity, hah! -- like I said -- check it at the door.

Now that you have been unchained, so to speak, from the bed, and you can move around a bit by dragging your IV around, the new shift nurse, the cuties had gone home by now, will bring you a series of specimen containers to fill as soon as the urge strikes, and strike it will. You can go home when you pee 200cc's. In my case the first cup held 4 drops of viscous red. No joy. The second was going slowly until I blew a clot and the Lake Lanier dam broke and let the Chattahoochee run free. My ticket outta there.

The pardon was complete except for one final thing - got to take the IV out - I shit a line of little blue monkeys as the day nurse slowly peeled what felt like a yard and a half of 200 mph duct tape off my forearm. I kid you not, that was the worst pain of the whole shooting match.

Now I'm sitting around bored just waiting for the six weeks of recuperation to pass so I can get back to living again, all the while hoping I don't develop incontinence, impotence, urgency or any kind of infection or leakage.

NO lifting, NO sex, NO straining, NO sex, NO riding mower, NO sex. The only saving grace, so far, is the fact that the trajectory has changed from 22 short to a 22-250.

The possibility of a boner at this time scares the daylivin'dogshit outta me. No stimulation please - cold water only!

The mere thought of sitting on a stock Kawasaki seat right now sends cold chills up my back.

More later, or not, as the notion strikes.

Old Age

Have figured out that old age does not come upon you slowly as advertized - it arrives as suddenly as a lightning flash - the instant you realize that the things that are hurting are "NOT GOING TO GET ANY BETTER".

brain freeze

Been awhile -- had too much shit to do and moto-syckles seem to have taken a backseat. Between my bad back and the fact that I can't pee anymore without dribbling on my own feet has taken precedence over the long ride.

Have signed up for a rotor-rooter job on my prostate in the middle of February and have been promised that I will be able to piss over a pickup truck once more. Should be interesting.

Still have 5 bikes just sitting in the basement just waiting on some attention. A 1970 Triumph 250cc, a 1973 Triumph 500cc Trophy Trail(my brothers), a 1967 Honda 50cc Cub with an honest 136 miles on the speedo, a 1998 Harley Wide Glide with enough Kurriaken and Harley chrome to set your hair on fire and the trusty 2008 KLR. Not enough battery tenders though, gotta keep swapping them around.

Bored -- more later.