First, the NHS removed me from the waiting list by mistake. Then I found myself on a waiting list for a waiting list. An impressive achievement for a service that apparently couldn’t find time for an actual operation.
Finally, on 29 July 2025, it happened.
I first visited my GP about the kidney stones on 9 May 2024. The CT scan followed on 1 July. Nearly fifteen months from ‘there’s a problem’ to ‘we’ve finally done something about it’.
You’d think that would be the end of the unpleasantness.
Not quite.
They’ve left a stent inside me, with a string attached. The string comes out of my penis and is secured with surgical tape. And I know exactly what that string is for. After a week, someone will pull it out and remove the stent.
I still have five more days to think about that appointment. After all the waiting I’ve already endured, this is the second appointment I’m not looking forward to.
For the first couple of days, there’s been quite a lot of blood in my urine. I can’t pee standing up, so I have to sit down. And I suspect that’s how the rest of the week will go.
Unfortunately, sitting down is bloody painful too. I can actually feel the stent pressing into my perineum.
So here I am, unable to have a wee standing up and unable to sit down without considerable discomfort. Not exactly the triumphant recovery I’d imagined.
Whether at the dining table, on the sofa or anywhere else, I need an extra cushion under my bum. Even going to the toilet requires careful positioning.
Then there are my granddaughters.
Lovely children. Very affectionate. They have absolutely no understanding of Grandpa’s equipment’s delicate state.
Whenever they run over for a hug, their heads are precisely the wrong height.
And when I finally manage to get comfortable in a chair, one of them jumps onto my lap.
I spent nearly fifteen months waiting for someone to sort out my kidney stones.
Now I’m spending a week trying to protect my bits from my own grandchildren.