This applies to everyone, actually
Reading time: 6 minutes
At the beginning of my journey, I was in the hospital (of course), and I was extremely uncomfortable with everything. The thought of a catheter makes anyone squirm, even at this point, over a year after using catheters every day, I try not to think about it.
I’m not as manly as you might think. For the 6 days, I was in the hospital after my surgery, I hated when I had to “cath.” I would take a pillow and put it over my face and tell the nurse to just tell me when it was over. Even though I couldn’t really feel it, I was afraid that I might.
Just a few days before, I was walking and NOT using a catheter, I didn’t even know what a catheter was.
I took it to an extreme. By the third or fourth day, I was down from four IV’s to just one. I didn’t need much of any medication. However, I was so terrified of being able to feel the catheter that I still took pain killers. I demanded it. I didn’t need them at all, though.
That’s how scared I was about feeling the catheter.
Right now, I’d go back in time and slap myself.
Don’t make the same mistake. For using a catheter or anything, really.
When I went to rehab a few days later, I knew something had to change. I realized that I can’t be scared about cathing if I expect to recover and gain my independence back.
The very first day, the nurse who came in, his name was Caesar (his name is Caesar), I told him that I need to cath (it was a long ride from the hospital to rehab) and that he needs to teach me how to do it.
Two mistakes I made in the hospital:
- I didn’t take responsibility for myself and I avoided doing what was necessary
- I didn’t learn how to be responsible for myself
Some of you might not physically be able to cath, that’s totally fine.
The point here is that you have to do everything you’re capable of doing.
In the hospital, I could have asked the nurses and doctors about how catheters work, best practices, and how to do it.
Visualize what life will be like once you’ve recovered. For me, it involves living a life of freedom – traveling and exploring. I might buy an RV and live a life of touring the country. If that happens, and I hope it does, I will probably have to poop in the woods at some point.
When I was scared of cathing, did I expect someone else to do it for me my whole life, when I absolutely can do it for myself? Honestly, I can’t understand why I was even okay with someone else doing that for me.
It gets a little worse.
A catheter is only for #1. What about #2?
This next part is 18+
Don’t continue reading unless you’re prepared to feel uncomfortable.
If you’re not 18, but in a wheelchair, then you’ll probably be familiar with this, so for anyone in a wheelchair, this is another day in the park. (Not that it’s nearly as pleasant).
For me, and it may differ drastically for everyone, this is called the bowel program. I came up with many names, such as “poopy program” or anything that didn’t sound so medically uptight. After all, I already had a finger up my ass.
It took me much, much longer to accept that I had to “manipulate my bowels.” I don’t remember when I first did it myself, but if you’re patient and a fast reader, I probably mentioned it in one of my Instagram posts.
This is one of those things that I look back and shake my head a little. I don’t remember if I ever pooped in the hospital, but before I tell you about my first time doing this myself, here’s how it worked in rehab when I didn’t do it for myself.
At a set time every night (rehab was very regimented), I would grab my fancy hospital bed remote and press the button I was all too familiar with. The SOS. The help button.
The nurse assigned my room would come in. We always bantered and had good conversations. They would grab the incontinence pad unless I already had one under me. It’s pretty much a square diaper. I would take off my diaper. By now, the door was shut and my Mom had left the room, thank God.
The first step for the nurse was to put on some medical gloves, then some medical lubricate on their finger and while I lay on my left side, go in and clear out the colon. Then, with the “ready to go” stuff out, we wrapped it up in the incontinence pad and like planned magic, there was another pad underneath. Part two is that a laxative was put in and the nurse left, waiting for me to call 15 minutes later to take the second incontinence pad, wrap it up and we’re done.
Nurses were both men and women. One time, I played this song as one nurse came in. Luckily, she thought it was funny. Even when a nurse is coming in to put their finger in your butt and pull out poop, you can still be lighthearted.
This went on for a lot longer than it should’ve. If you’re reading this while you’re in rehab or even still in the hospital, then I’m happy.
I want this message to get to as many people as it can early on.
This was something that I just couldn’t accept doing for a long time. It was outside of my comfort zone. This was astronomically out of my comfort zone. I didn’t expect it to be done for me forever and again, I was completely able to do it for myself. Because of that, I can’t imagine why I was so much more comfortable with someone else doing this.
The first time I did my own bowel program
I had prepared. The past three or four nights, I wasn’t just lying on my side in silence. I was asking for gruesome details. I knew that I needed to do this on my own. In rehab, they also have standards they hold you to. They expect you to progress and have thresholds for how long you can be in one spot. I had reached the limit for how long I could avoid doing this.
It was the nurse that I carelessly whispered who came into my room and told me to get up and do it myself. Instead of doing my bowel program on the bed, which would’ve been a lot harder, she had me get into my wheelchair, go into the bathroom and transfer onto the toilet commode (a cushioned chair with a hole in the middle). At this point, she was giving me the tough love that I am more than thankful for. I live for tough love. She wouldn’t believe me that this was actually my first time and that I still didn’t know what I was doing.
I double gloved. I wanted to put as much distance between me and this process. Two gloves was the best I could do. After that, I put on the lubricant and manipulated my bowels.
A quick note: while I was doing this, the nurse told me that sometimes this will cause people to pee and that sometimes people peed on her! It takes a brave person. She was still helping me and making sure to coach me through this unthinkable process, so, she was sitting right in front of me. You can use your arm to point “it” down while you do this (doesn’t apply to women).
Ever since that day, I’ve been doing the bowel program myself. I only wish that I had done it myself a lot earlier than I did.
Immediately actionable item: Ask yourself, am I avoiding doing something that I shouldn’t be? Set a plan to do it today, or begin the process today.
Summary: Don’t hesitate cathing or your bowel program. Do as much as you can early on. You’ll have to do it on your own at some point. I waited way too long to do some things on my own. It takes a lot of courage, but it’s something you need to do.
Over-deliver: A lot of people won’t give you the tough love you need. They’ll give you the easy way out and help you if you ask. If things seem too easy, ask for tough love.
Wheelchair DNA 