Bladder Blog #4

I’m back from 10 days in California. During that time I watched the Super Bowl with Anna (ok, the last 3 minutes anyway); shopped for and cooked a birthday dinner (ok, Liza made the dinner) for my friend Tanya; called on my first grocery chain and talked about banana and tomato programs; went to the produce market with Liza; went to the flower market and put together 15 wedding centerpieces with Anna (ok, she designed them, I just copied); spent the night with my friends Betty and Bob; set up the wedding flowers; consulted on some advertising plans; had my hair cut (thank you, B!); went to a mall (twice!); did 2 store produce department site visits; washed and dried most of my clothes with a lipstick, and drove 8 hours each way there and back. Oh yeah, and had another botox treatment. And I’m wondering why I’m so tired!

I think I may have finally nailed it. I had a prescription for Ativan from my solu-medrol roid rage experience and I asked Dr. G if it would be ok if I took some prior to the treatment. Generally he gives me a little valium and I squirm and gasp and cry and cuss, despite it, and we both agree that we are not BFFs for those 15 minutes. So when I asked him about the bigger daddy Adavan, he said, “oh yes. Please do.” I took 2.

Although it was Anna’s turn to accompany me on this visit, Liza came with me instead. As an EMT, she is a virtual rock when it comes to anything medical procedure related, whereas Anna is more like me, squealing at a pinprick of blood. Bright girl that she is, she brought in an LA Times crossword puzzle book and proceeded to yell out clues which all 4 of us in the room were yelling out answers to. It proved a wonderful distraction. I was also stoned out of my mind.

I only yelled out the answer “F*** you!” (or variations on that theme) about 4 times. Considering the names I’ve shouted at Dr. G during past procedures, we all agreed that was pretty good.

So now I’m back home in Tubac, worn out and sleepy. But I’m wearing a thong.

Bladder Blog #3 ~ We’re Live from LA!

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!

Bladder Blog #2 ~ Pins and Needles

So we left me in San Diego with my sister playing with catheters. I know you’re dying to know what is next, and as promised, here we go. Again: be forewarned. This is an awkward topic and I’m telling it like it happened and it gets a little gnarly.

So Dr. G comes in on my next visit (I’m going to say this is in early  2006 or so) and virtually sings out, “We’ve got options!”. Imagine my anticipation and delight if you can. He goes on to explain a new clinical trial he is heading whereby people who suffer from incontinence due to neurological issues or spinal injuries can partake of injections of Botox into their bladder.

Hmmmm. Let’s think on this a minute. Go ahead and let your imagination run free….no matter how you spin it you’re going to come up with pretty much exactly what is going happen. Well by now, I’m a total pro at the catheter thing, so how bad can this be? The end result means I might be able to wear a thong again, so it will be so worth it. Right?

Let’s do it. I sign on and have an ultrasound done, sign some paperwork and fill out a lengthy questionnaire. Due to incontinence am I depressed? Embarrassed? Hindered in daily activity? Concerned about catheterizing all the time? Well geez, I wasn’t until they brought it up!

I schedule the appointment for the procedure and take Anna with me (the girls take turns with who goes with me). They insert lots of various tubes in various openings and then douse some of those openings with Lidocaine to numb them. Then Dr. G comes in and inserts a camera (by which he informs me I can watch the progress of the events as they are happening on a monitor nearby. Um, no thanks.) Without being too much more graphic (although I DID warn you) I am injected multiple times in my bladder with the Botox.

According to Dr. G, 99% of the patients in the trial feel minimum discomfort. Need I tell you what percentage I fell into? I actually went into a little bit of shock. Shivering, crying, wobbly, that kind of thing. It didn’t last long though and there was no lingering discomfort, so off we went.

What follows is urinary bliss. People who don’t suffer from anything related to going #1 take it so for granted, as did I for years. Why would you not? We’ve all be peeing since birth (although in a diaper I might add…I’m just sayin’) and it’s a natural no-brainer. All of a sudden within days I was back like a semi-normal person, no longer like one of those people in the TV commercials whose whole life revolves around running from bathroom to bathroom.

Per the clinical trial expectations, the Botox is supposed to help for 6-9 months. Fortunately for me, I also feel into the 1% and mine lasted for 16 months. Damn good thing too, because I dread going back (I’m headed to California next month for my 4th treatment). I will be taking a thong to wear home though.

That’s the end of installment #2 of the Bladder Blog. Next is when I take it on local TV (come on, you didn’t really think I had one shred of dignity left, did you?). Stay tuned (pun intended).

Bladder Blog #1 ~ Not for the Faint of Heart

I Googled this phrase…I thought it was feint of heart, but turns out it is faint of heart. At any rate…..

Warning: If you aren’t used to doctors poking around in your orifices or are in the least bit squeamish about these things, then skip this post. This one is written most specifically for my MS brethren who have suffered the indignities of medical procedures and have given up all hope of retaining any sense of modesty since we started having our brains x-rayed. If the idea of having an airport security body scan bothers you, move along.

Incontinence. How embarrassing can it get? People telling jokes about Depends that we only give a curt smile to and then move on (I actually know a funny one, but maybe another time). It is high on the list of  MS symptoms and almost everyone I’ve ever met with MS shares this inconvenience with me. (If you’re daring enough to be reading this after my warning, I have news. Chances are running pretty high that even you will be personally interested in this topic someday).

I’ve been seeing my urologist, Dr. David G., for about 8 years. He’s a handsome blade, very suave (I’ve never been able to figure out how you can combine suave and urology, but he has), and cutting edge in his affiliation with USC. Over the years we tried Detrol to control the urgency, which worked up to a point, but I was still wearing a pad. Then one visit after an ultrasound he pronounced that I was not voiding completely ~ oh for god’s sake, really? What does that even mean? Well in his Dr. words, my bladder was a cess pool. EWWWW!!!!! Solution! Please! Now!

Fuck. The solution? Catheterizing. When I was very first diagnosed I bought a book on MS that was written by all these very “evolved” women who called it the MonSter (oh, so clever) and I hated them and the book because they gave their condition so much power. Nevertheless, they talked about having to self catheter and I thought NO WAY that is the worst EVER! Hell will freeze before I ever do that!

Hell froze over.

I was not only peeing in my pants every 5 seconds, but it was because I was only ever “topping off”. The only solution to empty the old B was to catheter. Holy crap. I went in and had a lesson (I am not making this up ~ can you imagine that being your job?) and glumly went home with my new “gear” and cried and cried and practiced and cried.

I remember going to San Diego not long after to meet up with Lisa and her family who were down from Seattle on holiday. She, being my number one go to rock, suggested I show her how it was done. My wonderful sister sat with me in a hotel room while I demonstrated my new found skill and held me while I cried, laughed with me at the absurdity of it all, and as per usual, was a beacon of strength and inspiration to me. My sister, as they say, is the bomb.

Believe it or not, this is just the beginning of the bladder story. There are more installments of the bladder blog, but it’s getting late. Why don’t you all go have a pee and we’ll reconvene tomorrow.