In my last post I mentioned not having any dignity, that’s BS. I have lots of dignity, but zero modesty left, as you will soon find out. One more time: graphic content warning!
Well now it’s weeks later and I am one happy continent girl (is that the opposite of incontinent?). The hideousness of the injections are a thing of the past ~ like childbirth, the end result is so amazing you forget the discomfort. I go in for a follow up visit and…oh, no, really? In a nutshell it goes like this: put on a gown, wire up again like before (only this time all the tubes are connected to a computer), drink a bunch of liquid, sit on a chair with a hole in it and a bucket underneath, and wait to pee. Makes sense, this is an experimental clinical trial after all.
Oh yes. Lest I forget…. in the room with me in this rather indelicate position are: Dr. G, his nurse, the clinical trial coordinator, the clinical trial nurse, two visiting doctors and Anna. Seven people. All chatting like they are at a cocktail party about which movies they’d seen lately, who won the game on Sunday, future vacation plans. Meanwhile I’m on this jerry-rigged porta-potty in a hospital gown relishing the absurdity of it all and waiting to take a piss.
Eventually I pee, the computer monitors it, everyone puts down their martini glasses, I get $250 for my troubles, and Anna and I skedaddle as fast as possible on out of there.
Fast forward a few months. I get a call from Dr. G which is unusual in and of itself, but his reason for calling is even more unexpected. It seems KTLA or one of the local stations has gotten wind of the fact that he is heading up this new use for Botox and wants to interview him on a health segment. “Well, that’s dandy!” I say, innocently. He then goes on to explain that the station wants to talk to a patient in the trial, and he figures I’m the only one in the group with both the elan and the cojones to do it.
Now I’ve never been too shy, but this is pushing it, even for me. I take some time to think it over and realize that a) the whole point of a clinical trial is to hopefully help people who are suffering b) I have already sat through a gathering where the main event was me peeing in a bucket and c) the whole thing is so preposterous, why the hell not. I can only hope none of my clients watch afternoon TV, because I do question the professionalism of my decision.
The day I’m scheduled to do the interview, Paris Hilton comes to my rescue. She manages to get herself arrested and all the news crews flock to the scene of this hot breaking story. I have to agree, even Paris is more interesting than my bladder, and certainly a better news draw. Saved!
Not so fast. They are adamant to cover this story. A week or so later, a cameraman and a reporter come to my home office and interview me there. They take pictures of the cover of the magazine I work for (gulp), state my name (double gulp) and put the camera in my face (gasp!). So here I am now talking about my lack of bladder control on a TV camera. Does this not explain why it’s not so hard for me to approach this topic anymore?
As it turns out, the only person I know of who saw it was some friend of Anna’s (“Hey, I think I saw your mom on TV the other day!”). Lucky for me.
And so ends this initial episode of the Bladder Blog. Unfortunately, it is an ongoing saga and I may post more on it as I am inclined. My intention was not to make anyone uncomfortable, but rather to share my experiences outright for those of you reading this who suffer the same issues and indignities as I have. The whole topic is tricky but know that you are not alone!