I’m not talking about preschoolers. I’m talking about a large prostate and a small penis. And my semi frantic attempt at placing a catheter to drain the 1200cc of urine that has collected faster than a flash flood.
I don’t judge. Every peen gets my due respect regardless of size. Until they reveal their nasty hidden secret…a bulbous flesh gate half way to Graceland that’s stopping that slippery rubber catheter from giving certain relief. It’s like trying to shove an asparagus spear through a watermelon.
And then your hands get covered in lube because you’re keeping your non-sterile (dirty) hand on the peen and your sterile hand on the catheter while trying to push it in and not lose ground when it pushes back out. Then the shaft starts slipping through your dirty hand like a clam neck into its shell, and you think “screw sterility” and you transfer it into the last 3 curled fingers of your dirty hand and use the thumb and index finger to anchor the catheter while you continue to fight with the prostate. All the while sounding like a yoga instructor…”now breathe…good…and relax….and take a deep breath…and exhale”.
And when at last I get it in and that liquid gold begins to flow, we both breathe a sigh of relief. The patient because the worst trauma of his life is over, and me because I don’t have to page the urology resident with my tail tucked between my legs and ask for backup.