An earlier blog-post refers to Saint Stanislav's waterworks.
 |
Here you may partake of the healing
properties of my water. |
In recent months Saint Anley has been shall-we-say 'inconvenienced' by
having to visit the toilet increasingly frequently and with some urgency.
His GP referred him to the local hospital for uroflow
studies. This investigation requires the patient to drink two pints of water
one hour before the appointment with the intention that he will arrive with a
full bladder.
Then the patient is required to evacuate his bladder into a device that
looks like this:
“I perform better sitting down,” says Saint Anley.
“Sorry,” responds the lady technician, (she's rather pretty!)
“We don’t have that
facility.”
“All I need you to do is pass 150mls of urine while I
measure the flow rate.”
Now, under normal circumstances, Saint Anley, and most men, would have no
difficulty in rapidly voiding 2 pints of recently-consumed liquid.
It takes a while and he eventually succeeds in passing only
80mls.
“Go and sit in the waiting area again.” says the pretty technician.
“Drink more water. Come back in when you feel the urge.”
If you ever want to experience male speed-bonding, you must
attend such a clinic ...
The waiting area is full of men of middle years+ drinking vast
quantities of water while sharing intimate details of their lavatorial habits
and difficulties.
Everyone agrees that the technician is particularly attractive.
Within seconds we have an impromptu support group.
The more we talk about it, the greater the anxiety
regarding our ability to perform.
Everyone shares the notion: “It’s not normally like this. Shall
we go to the pub?”
Saint Anley decides to go for a walk; that might help.
He visits the WRVS café to hear people rattle tea-spoons, and he watches them drink diuretic fluids.
He cycles around the hospital car park, whistling, several times; that should do it!
Saint Anley feels some
pelvic discomfort.
He returns to the department.
“I’m ready now!” he announces.
Output: 115mls.
The pretty technician looks disappointed: “Still not enough!”
Saint Anley returns to the waiting area to drink more water,
only to discover that his new-found male friends are in a state of agitation.
They’ve
all got full bladders!
“Who has the fullest bladder?” calls the technician.
There is a competitive response, verging on civil disorder, as everyone,
(except Saint Anley,) is now fit to bust.
Everyone succeeds in performing to the pretty technician's approval and, one-by-one,
the men emerge from the toilet/examination room with a demeanour of considerable relief and satisfaction.
Meanwhile Saint Anley dejectedly drinks more water.
Now he is alone in the waiting area.
“Are you ready for another go?” enquires the pretty technician.
“OK.”
He stands in front of that previously illustrated device.
“Keep going,” calls the technician who is remotely
monitoring things from behind the closed door.
"I haven’t started yet!” cries Saint Anley.
He avoids the temptation to divert water from the wash-basin
tap.
Now ... it’s lunch time.
“Come back at 2 o’clock,” says the technician.
14.00 hours:
“I’m ready … now!”
He prays to the Virgin of el Carmen in Puerto Rico, who is
some sort of saint who has something to do with water.
“That’s
fine, you can stop now,” the technician calls.
“No, I can’t!”
shouts Saint Anley.
The
ultra-sound examination that follows is painless, and Saint Anley is dispatched
with instructions to contact his GP for the results in about a fortnight.
Now, what
happened to all that water he consumed?
Saint Anley cycles
home, via town.
In town he
feels another urge, so visits a public convenience that exists in the main car park,
only to find that it is in the process of demolition.
“Hmmm …” he
thinks.
“I know:
Waitrose! I need to go there anyway.”
By the time
he gets to Waitrose he certainly needs to 'go', and can’t risk the delay of
locking the bicycle. He uses the very clean facility, after which he locks his
bicycle and makes a couple of purchases.
His route
home takes him past a large Tesco store. He doesn’t need to buy anything, but
he does need to ‘go’.
Now, it’s
only 2 miles home.
“Will I
make it?”
On arrival
home, Saint Anley changes his clothes!
