el.is.in.wonderland

Hello. This post is going to be very short. Well… shorter than usual—because I don’t really enjoy exposing my own stupidity. But I feel like this one deserves to be shared.

So, after my belly surgery, I had to stay one night post-op. What I didn’t know—until someone told me—was that I didn’t need to worry about going to the toilet for number one. I was like, oh yeah… that makes sense.

For context: I have an overactive bladder, so I usually go to the toilet very frequently. And apparently—plot twist—I had been fitted with a catheter. I was like, okay. Cool.

I then spent hours trying to pee very carefully, afraid it would leak everywhere. The nurse even changed the pee bag twice, and I was like, wow… I pee a lot, and look at me, successfully controlling it so it doesn’t leak.

Even the next day, when I was discharged and the nurse removed the catheter, I felt a tiny shock down there and thought, okay… noted.

During New Year’s Eve, I told a colleague about the catheter. He immediately made an “ugh” face and asked if I knew how a catheter works. I confidently said yes, of course. He added, “For men, they insert the tube inside… you know.” And I remember making an “ugh” face myself—sympathizing deeply.

Bear with me. The story will reach a conclusion.

One day, I watched a YouTube interview featuring an ER doctor (I like him—please listen if you can). He talked about removing a coin stuck in a child’s airway using a catheter. He explained that a catheter has a balloon at the end. Once inserted, the balloon is inflated so the object can’t go further down, and then the tube is slowly pulled out—voilà, coin removed.

I was like, Yay!!
And then… wait.

Balloon?

So I Googled:

1. What does a catheter look like?
2. How is a catheter inserted?

I was… flabbergasted.

It turns out my ignorance—and vivid imagination—had been acting up again.

Because apparently, I had imagined catheter insertion as something similar to putting on an oxygen mask. I didn’t even stop to ask myself very basic questions, like: If it’s like a mask, how does it stay in place? How do you secure it?
I did not think that far. At all. For God’s sake.

That’s why I was so proud of myself for “behaving” and peeing carefully so it wouldn’t leak onto the bed.

Of course it didn’t leak.
The end of the tube was inside my bladder.

I am currently still about 27% shocked, and I’m considering booking hypnotherapy—to reduce my tendency to acutely believe my own imagination and to improve my truth-finding skills.

Bonus image on how a catheter actually works (just in case you’re the same like me…)

Apparently this blog length is not short.. Oh well.