Living up to my moniker

Am now home safely post my CT scan.

How was it?

Hmmmmm. Interesting to say the least.

First up they made me drink yet another bloody Ioscan sachet. Was truly on the point of hurling.

I then had to sign a disclaimer in case I had an allergic reaction to the pending procedure or my kidneys failed (whichever came first).

Why?

Because the stuff they were shortly to inject me with is pretty harsh on the old renal bags. Very comforting.

Um, let's take a quick step back in linear time.

The actual poke and prod stuff began with the lovely nurse plunging a needle and drip into my arm to administer a good ol' saline washout. They wanted me well clean for the blast of 'tingly juice' I previously had to sign the disclaimer for.

It was then into the CT scan room. On my back on a slab. And then in and out of the chamber for baseline readings.

So far so good.

Then they slid me out and administered the solution that will help them truly see what's going on inside my chest, abdomen and pelvis. Yep, the 'tingly juice'.

This is what I was told . . .

"Philip, we're about to release the liquid into your bloodstream," said the senior technician. "You'll feel a burning sensation throughout your body in about 15 seconds along with the feeling that you're urinating. But you won't be. So just relax, yeah?"

Um, relax? Fuck off. Is this gonna really burn? Tickle? Will I actually piss myself? Bleed out? Faint? Fuck!!!!

Back into the chamber I went praying that there was a happy ending right around the corner. I wasn't to be disappointed. But it wasn't quite what I was expecting. The sensation hit me hardest in what I suspect was the male G-spot. A brilliant tingle throughout the whole cross section of my groin. Front. Back. Inside. Out.

Warmth. Release. Bliss.

It was the most fun a guy could have with himself without the need for any self-fiddling shenanigans.

Before I could even light a self-shag cigarette and celebrate I was tossed out and shuffled to the post-scan waiting room.

They wanted to monitor me for 20 minutes to see that I didn't take a turn for the worse (yep, that old disclaimer clause).

Eight cups of cold water later and I was still in good shape, so they said I could go.

And that's when the adventure became even more memorable.

My bladder is pretty shabby at the best of times and with about 1.5 litres of cold water in the pee pee pouch I knew I'd need a clear run home on the freeway just to be sure.

But it wasn't peak hour so not a problem.

Dah-duh (cue the sound of the bad luck game show buzzer).

Major roadworks halfway home.

We crawled and crawled and crawled. And I needed to pee. Desperately.

What to do?

Miraculously, I had just finished a plastic bag of dried fruit and nuts. Saved.

A DIY catheter-style thing.

But did it have a hole in it? I'd be screwed if mid-flow it started leaking. So would Jo's Mum's front seat.

The other challenge was that in the traffic crawl we were surrounded by SUVs and vans, so they could see down into our car.

Arse.

I removed my seatbelt, built a small bivouac with my jacket and let rip. Aaaaaaaaah.

Good news. No leaks. Just a bag full of warm urine to dispose of.

The local supermarket foyer rubbish bin did the job.

I was then free to comfortably stroll the aisles and stock up on more bottles of water for the remainder of the day.

They want me to gulp about 3 litres before I go to bed.

Here's to a night of up-and-down action methinks (but not the type you'd most like).

Just another average day in my new world.

I'm off to get the stitches removed from my groin tomorrow. Doesn't bear thinking about.

Sheeesh.

Pee