My Flight from Hell
This is a story I am reluctant to share. I certainly didn’t want to blog about it. But the few friends I told the story to, encouraged me to do so. Though my daughter Heather said no way.
But what the hell. Life on the road can be sexy from the outside, but sometimes it’s very different from the inside.
This is one of those stories.
Occasionally I splurge on long haul flights and upgrade to business class. Lie flat beds. Good food and wine. And plenty of it. Flying from Thailand to Hawaii (on my way back to LA) was one of those occasions. The flight from Bangkok was perfect. Seven hours. I sat back, listened to music and meditated on how good life is. I got served a lovely Japanese lunch, and indulged in numerous glasses of wine from France and Japan. Life couldn’t be better.
By the time I got to Tokyo, I had a four hour layover and could continue my good luck at the Japan Airline’s lounge. I had a small bite and a nice glass of chilled sake.
Around 9:30PM I boarded the overnight leg of my journey. Another eight hours and I was looking forward to some sleep. But first a quick trip to the bathroom to pee.
This is where the nightmare began.
As I stood before the stainless stool with a somewhat full bladder, nothing came out. Odd, I thought. I stood there for a while and nothing changed. Now as a gentleman in his late 60’s, this sometimes happens. It’s one of the curses of being a male and getting older. “Prostrate” the doctors say. Who am I to argue.
I went back to my seat and tried to relax. The pressure was building. Hmmm… “Now what?” What I mean is, “Now I have to really go”
Without drawing too much attention to myself (why does walking towards the toilet make me feel like everyone is watching?)
Another few minutes of nothing. I start to worry. What’s going on? I have a pill that will help shrink the prostate that I’ve used in situations like this before. But where is it? Oh yeah, it’s in the bag that I checked. Fuck.
The lights in the cabin go down. People fall asleep. But I can’t. I have six more hours of flying before landing in Honolulu. What am I going to do?
I sit and all I can think about is my bladder. Sometimes in a situation like this I’ll drink more water to flush things out. I go back to the steward’s station and ask for a few bottles of water. I gulp them down. Bad idea.
I wait. Maybe I will fall asleep and forget about it. Maybe this is just a bad dream. What if I wake up and find that I’ve peed my pants. All of these possible outcomes don’t make me feel better.
I get up and go back to the bathroom. Everyone is asleep so “the walk” doesn’t bother me. But if someone looked at me funny I’d probably hit them.
For some reason being in the bathroom is the only place I am comfortable. At the same time, there is no reason for me to think this. I stand there and nothing happens. Except my bladder has expanded from the two bottles of water I just chugged down.
I can’t stay in there (though I kind of wish I could). I return to my seat.
If I told you that I spent the next six hours bouncing from my seat to the lavatory would you believe me? And when that didn’t work I just paced up and down the aisle. At this point, I don’t remember how I passed the hours.
We landed in Honolulu on time. I’m breathing heavy. The pressure is intense. I’ll get to those pills at baggage claim. I’ll pop two of them. Then I’ll be fine I told myself.
But the pain is unrelenting. It’s taken over my consciousness. I try and use my breath to calm myself. Nothing works. I feel like my bladder will explode. I guess that will kill me right?
I needed a game plan. I had my flight to Maui. It would leave in two hours. I headed to another bathroom. I stood there. Nothing. I moved around. Nothing. The pain kept growing. I kept saying to myself one of my favorite sayings — “This too shall pass”. But it didn’t. By now I knew that I needed to go to a hospital ER. Most likely I needed a catheter. Oddly, that didn’t scare me. Honestly, it sounded good. Anything to ease this insane pain.
Two long hours later I was in my seat on the flight to Maui. Luckily it was a short flight. I loosely buckled my seatbelt and undid my pant’s belt. I started humming to myself. God, why is this happening to me? I’m in Hawaii. My favorite place. I don’t even look out the window.
Okay I made it somehow to Maui airport. I’ve never felt pain like this before. I don’t have cell service and I’m not stopping to get it. But I have to pick up my rental car. The agent is sweet and chatty. “JUST GIVE ME MY KEYS!” I scream inside my head. Outside I just try to smile.
I find a clinic. They couldn’t help me. Then off to a nearby Urgent Care facility. Nope. They don’t do catheters and told me to go to the emergency room at the hospital. Oh no. I’m going to die. The pain and pressure was moving into my kidneys.
The emergency nurse takes me into her office and asks me how would I rate my pain on a scale of 1 -10. I said it’s hovering around a 10. She then asked, nonplussed, had I considered killing myself? What?! My mind raced towards the idea that my bladder would burst and likely die from that.
“Don’t hit me” the next nurse said as she shoved in the catheter. “Hit you? You’re about to give me something I’ve been praying for.” “Others have” she shrugged. Even as the pain of insertion made me shout, I was grateful. Finally I would be empty.
A half hour later she picks up the collection bag. “Two liters” she told me. I mean, can you imagine yourself with two liters of fluid in your bladder and flying/walking around for almost ten hours?!!! Trust me, it’s best not to think about it.
But slowly, evenly the pain resides. I take a deep sigh of relief. My mind is numb.
The ER doctor arrives. “You’ve just experience Acute Urinary Retention. “Probably it’s your prostate” she says. She then suggests that I keep the catheter in until I see a Urologist. I barely heard her. I just think that I am finally in Hawaii and won’t be able to swim or wear shorts. But I surrender, take my catheter and my collection bag, which was now taped to my leg and drive to my friends house.
“Where have you been?” he asked. I shook my head. You can’t make this shit up.
I wish this was the end to my story. But it wasn’t. Over the next three weeks it happened two more times. That means two more agonizing trips to the ER. Two more catheters. Though I finally got smart and left them in. Somewhat painful and annoying, but nothing compared to the alternative.
Back in LA, I finally saw my Urologist. We decided on surgery. It’s called Turp, basically he enlarges the urethra by trimming away at the prostate. He promised me it would solve my problems. I was ready to trust him.
A week later I had the surgery — and success! The nightmare was finally over six weeks after it began.
The whole incident kicked my ass. But if there was one thing good about what happened was that it happen in the US and not in some remote country. Always nice that your doctor speaks your language.
So this insane incident is now in my rearview mirror. Good riddance.
Just in time for my next flight…
