Consider the design of any public “Gents” throughout the world. By the very nature of their layout, it would appear that one of the things blokes are supposed to feel comfortable about is getting it out and peeing, in front of other blokes, at a public urinal. I, on the other hand, fall into the category of that lesser known cohort of males who suffer from “Shy Dick Syndrome”, which requires me to find the privacy of a stall before I can relax enough to let things flow (this is sometimes referred to as “stage fright” or “performance anxiety”).
There are many reasons for “Shy Dick Syndrome” – a sense of the need for privacy; a heightened diligence for modesty; fear of being found lacking (or, alternatively, threatening) in the lineup; concern that someone may take a glance and involuntarily blurt out something like “You should see a doctor about that!”.
Whilst some of these factors played a part in the onset of “Shy Dick Syndrome” for me (I won’t tell you which), the one drip too many that closed the ballcock valve on my public streaming was the unpredictable nature of the colour of my urine. It just felt a little too challenging to face the potential of walking up to a public urinal and not know whether I would be unleashing a stream of Pinot Gris or an old Pinot Noir; a crystal clear cider or a cloudy dark ale.
To this day, although there remains only an extremely minor risk of major discolouration occurring, the valve remains stuck and there is little use trying to release it until I have found solace in the privacy of a cubicle. An extremely discomforting situation, particularly at public events such as the football where I often find myself waiting for the next available cubicle.
Not only does this mean I run the risk of looking like a malingering pervert, I also have to try to find a location in the general chaos of pissing penises, and avert my eyes, such that I don’t appear to be looking at any one in particular. And if it is busy with a cue of desperate looking fellows lined up and waiting for a free seat, I usually make sure I sit down to pee and, if at all possible, fart loudly, so that it appears to the others who are waiting that my use of the said cubicle is totally and unequivocally justified.
This, however, may not be a problem for much longer.
Every six to eight weeks I currently attend the renal outpatients’ clinic. One of the questions that is asked at each consultation is, “Are you still producing urine?” I assume from this that it is expected that as my kidneys continue to decline in their functioning there may come a day when they stop “producing urine” and I will stop peeing. Considering how active and productive my kidneys have been over the years, this presents as a strange and curious prospect.
I have always had the need to seek out toilets wherever I go.
When travelling, I can rarely go for longer than a couple of hours before the demand becomes too strong. When visiting someone’s home for the first time, I often display an odd curiosity in knowing where “the bathroom” is before feeling relaxed enough to join in the social interactions. When at the movies, I hope that the film does not try to emulate the running time of “The Lord of the Rings” and I long for the days when they used to have an intermission. Goodness knows how often I go whilst at home, running on autopilot with no need to deny or curtail any demands of the bladder which may arise…
None of this has been helped over the years by the encouragement I was given in the early days to “keep up your fluids and drink plenty (of water).” And just recently, when I was starting to meet the targets and actually starting to enjoy imbibing H2O, I have been told it’s time to limit my intake. Just as the changes in and development of the disease has fluctuated over the years, so too has some of the science behind my treatment been “malleable”. Restricted protein intake has been reviewed and adjusted to moderate protein intake due to the potential onset of malnutrition. Steroid based medications such as prednisolone have been discontinued due to the negative offset of weight gain which was all too often a side effect of their administration. You will only need to attend renal clinic once a year… No, every six months… How about we catch up in three months time?… Better not leave it longer than six weeks, now. “Your blood pressure is a bit high – 140 on 80.”… “Your blood pressure is really good – 140 on 80.”
The directive to “take it easy” and “not overdo things” unfortunately had the unconscious effect of promoting my natural tendency towards laziness, and in more recent efforts to improve my general fitness the directive has been altered to “take it less easy” and “at least do some things”. Yet this is now much more difficult as certain symptoms of my failing kidneys, such as fluid retention and fatigue, become more evident. Not to say that I hadn’t been encouraged earlier, it’s just that, daily, it’s becoming more and more of a challenge.
It’s not all down to the effects of kidney disease – I suppose one could say that I’m not so young any more – but it does play a more active part now than it used to. And although the impacts of both aging and illness are something that one acknowledges more and more as one’s life hurtles faster and faster towards its inevitable conclusion, I do find myself often pining for those halcyon days when, like David Carradine in the TV series, “Kung Fu”, I could walk over virtually any surface, in any weather, in bare feet without any hint of a wince or grimace; I could swim and dive and leap and play in water with such blithe abandon that dreams of competing with dolphins did not seem too far fetched at all; when I ran so effortlessly that the streaming wind whispered in my ears and convinced me I was flying.