Added: Prem Wiersma - Date: 27.12.2021 14:07 - Views: 31921 - Clicks: 562
Chris Rovzar am, Apr 24, At the end of my freshman year, I had a damaging experience. The kind of experience that changes the way you look at life forever. I will never be the same. It is painful and embarrassing, but hopefully reading it will give you some comfort some day in the future when you too have to go to the bathroom. Very badly. After school freshman year, I stayed at Yale to race with the lightweight crew team. In the course of those days I developed a condition known as a hernia, which is basically when your intestines try to break free from your abdominal cavity and produce a golf ball-sized lump in a surprising area of your body.
Mine was where my leg meets my torso.
I was diagnosed by Patty, after some prodding that was humiliating and also kind of exciting, to have a minor hernia. She said that I could row with it. I raced in Eastern Sprints and then headed back home to Maine to have surgery. Seriously, do it yourself first. So Dr. Douchebag does his thing, they patch up the hernia, etc, etc.
I find myself waking up in the recovery room with my mother and father leaning over me. Mine, however, aside from not being married and not liking one another one bit, are not a patient pair of people. I almost kissed her.
So my mother and I returned to my home, and I sat around doing nothing for a couple of hours. At some point, I got up to go to the bathroom. This is where disaster struck. The doctor told me to turn on the faucet, and to sit down. After I explained that I already tried that, we had the following conversation.
My mother was told to wait outside. I got back into a hospital smock and spoke with Nurse Nancy, who was very friendly. I do this all the time. As horrified as I was by this prospect, she was just so darn nice that I was comforted. Until she whipped out the catheter. I was envisioning a tube something along the lines of a coffee stirrer. Now, lift your smock. I need to wash the area. This is approximately one-half as bad as it felt. There was some fidgeting, and minor pounding as she attempted to work it in.
Then, to my shock and awe, Nice Nurse Nancy pulled out. I have to get a bigger size. So Nice Nurse Nancy tried a bigger size, figuring that the anesthesia during the surgery had somehow tightened my bladder. Tried a still bigger size. My Big Ben was beginning to feel like the Big Dig.
Nancy declared that she would have to get Dr. My mother spotted her as she left the curtained room. Douchebag came in presently, with his sidekick, Male Nurse Bruce. Bruce had spiky blonde hair and big hands.
After negotiating with Nancy, the doctor looked me over. Douchebag apparently missed that lecture. We went through another series of washings and proddings, until I started to consider charging admission to the opening of my urethra. At the breaking point, I whispered to Dr. At this Erotic catheter stories, I had needed to go to the Erotic catheter stories for at least four hours, and my bladder had been rammed more times than the Gates of Troy. Douchebag decided that maybe we should numb the whole thing up. There is, apparently, a lot more room up there than one would think.
After this jelly procedure, he was finally successful in getting the catheter to enter my bladder. But the rejoicing was short lived. Once Male Nurse Bruce inflated the gas bulb at the end of the catheter — to force the fluid out of my bladder — nothing came out. The only result, in fact, was that I had to go to the bathroom so much I considered strangling myself with my hospital bracelet. So Bruce complied, pushing down on my abdomen. We had a moment of awkward eye contact. Bruce was cute — maybe we could have dated. Except now I was lying completely naked on a hospital bed with my smock around my neck and a tube coming out of my groin with two old people watching, and he was pushing on my bladder to make me pee.
I realized with chagrin that Bruce was never a person I could make friends with after this. Then I passed out. I was awoken by the soothing voice of my mother. Douchebag informed me that they had flushed out the clog in the tube, which had come from the numbing jelly, and that I needed to stand up.
I stood up. Male Nurse Bruce was holding a pitcher at the end of the tube sticking out of me. We all waited with in anticipation, because the change in gravity was supposed to make the catheter work. It did not do so. So I did it. I began to dance a little, bouncing from my left foot to my right foot, holding my hospital smock at shoulder height, as Male Nurse Bruce tried to keep the pitcher below the end of the catheter and Nice Nurse Nancy and Dr.
Douchebag looked on.
And then, at the most cripplingly embarrassing moment of my whole life, the catheter began to work. The clouds opened and there was sunshine, and suddenly I loved those three, who had violated me in every imaginable way.
I wanted to kiss Male Nurse Bruce, but he was busy catching my urine in a bucket. Nice Nurse Nancy held my hand happily. Douchebag, I think, was trying not to laugh. So this is my last magazine column. Consider this a gift from me to you. The greatest story ever told. Tweets by yaledailynews.Erotic catheter stories
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