My appointment with destiny looms closer. Or to be more specific - my appointment with urology. May 1st. It's weighing on my mind more and more. I'm having to make all kinds of arrangements at work, stuff I can't do so have to hand on to others. Each time I have to give a minimal explanation of why I'll be off. I haven't told anyone at work the full story. Normally I would, if nothing else, for a bit of sympathy and humour, but....
It's not very sexy, is it? Cutting up through the perinaeum, cutting out a 2cm section of urethra, stitching it back together, spending two weeks on a catheter and pissing in a bag. I won't be able to walk or sit without pain for weeks, riding my bike's out for ages, god knows when I'll be back to normal.
And then there's the risk of complications. Ten per cent of men suffer impotence after this operation. If the constricted section of pipe was any nearer my bladder, I'd risk incontinence. If it was any nearer my penis, the consultant blithely pointed out, it might involve shortening the penis. SHORTENING THE PENIS! No fucking way! If he'd told me there was a ninety percent chance of death if they didn't go ahead with penis-shortening, I'd have been thinking "yes, but that's a ten per cent chance of not-death...." Let's not even go there.
So if I'm unlucky, I could end up impotent or incontinent - or both. You could say I won't know whether I'm coming or going....
