There's something wrong with my wee

(And I'm not talking about the one made in Japan)

OK, for all those of weak stomachs and lily livers stop reading right now.  The following story is not going to reaffirm your belief in God or all things nice and normal.  This story is all about The Good, The Bad and the WTF - continue at your peril.  Can I please also make a personal point (D'oh, this is a blog, it's all personal.)  I'm not writing this for sympathy or empathy or any of those other pathys that I can't spell.  If after reading this you feel the need to add a message of support or condolence then just STOP RIGHT NOW.  I appreciate where you're coming from, I just don't want to hear it, and hopefully I'm not in a position to need it.

A few weeks ago I went to the toilet and peed blood.

I tried to think of a way to ease you into the situation, but I didn't get one so why should you?  I have to admit that it shit the life out of me at the time (luckily I was in the right place for that little event.)  I've spent 39 years peeing yellow, so whilst red was a nice change in scenery, the implications of it weren't.  I considered keeping it to myself, but the Rorschach patterns I was leaving in the bowl were bound to give the game away eventually so I told my wife the following day and agreed that I would book an urgent appointment with my GP. 

Unfortunately it seems that he doesn't work mornings at the moment, and mornings were the only time that I could do this in secret, so I made an appointment with his Spanish colleague Manuel, and hoped for the best.

I'm not sure I could do the appointment justice to be honest.  Just imagine the episode of Fawlty Towers where Basil couldn't mention the war, except it was "Don't mention the Penis."  Then times the embarrassment by 10 and include a prostrate exam in front of your kids, and then you may be somewhere close.  They are still asking me if the Doctor has found his watch yet.

So it was decided by my Doctor that I should undergo a few tests at the Hospital, better to be safe than sorry he said.  What he didn't mention until I was safely out of his office and unable to seek retribution, was that one of the tests would be a cockovisionogram.   For the uninitiated, this is when they stick a camera down your Japs eye and start looking for intelligent life, or something like that.

I entered the room to find the whole camera crew were there, and I have to be honest, I think the need for a guy with a boom mike was a tad over the top.  Ironically the director of this epic movie was blonde, female and Swedish.  I started to worry about standing to attention at an inappropriate moment (I blame my early teen porn usage for that), but upon seeing the size of the camera, and the nurse holding it, all worries disappeared, well shrunk actually.

I asked the Doc if she could Sky+ the proceedings as it wasn’t something I was expecting to watch, and it may make great viewing when paired with my vasectomy DVD, a classic double bill, but she just continued to slap iodine on my knackers and ignored me.

Without a trace of a smile and with ruthless efficiency, the camera was inserted and the feature movie appeared on the screen.  The first thing I saw was two perfect circular shapes on the upper wall of my bladder.  My first thought that was that some microscopic beings had set up a lunar base on their way to Uranus, but apparently they were just air bubbles.

I also got a good view of my prostrate during the proceedings.  It looked nice, pink and healthy to me, but unfortunately the Doctor so enjoyed her view of it that she decided to have a hands on visit - at least it felt like her whole hand anyway.

And just to make matters worse, as it feels like I have been pissing razor blades since the whole experience, I rather fear that she has left one of her false nails behind.  I mean, how am I going to explain that one away when I am standing in a public convenience and I pee out a bright pink fingernail?  She could have at least painted her fingernails blue, then I could have pretended it was one of those plasters they make the Barmaids wear when they cut themselves.

So now I sit here and wait.  For all their explorations, deep sea drilling and other ventures best left to BP employees, all they found was a red patch on the wall of my bladder.  They say it probably means nothing, but what it does mean is that they are going to repeat the procedure again - but this time they're bringing a cutting crew.

I shall endeavour to keep you updated, if you so wish, during these exploratory procedures.  But don't panic, I shall keep the prostate porn pics to myself.  I wouldn't wish that viewing on anyone.