OZ BLOG: Day 29 – 33 (Part 2): That Time I Peed On Myself… Rockhampton, Australia

Fliss was waiting when I got back from surgery. I was queasy for about ten minutes, but then I slammed my face into a Spaghetti Bolognese and a giant Freddo. It felt so good to eat. I glugged down water, coffee and Coca Cola as I waged war against my three day dry mouth.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I remembered that I really needed to pee before going into surgery. As soon as that notion was realised, it was like my bladder had been poked with stick.


This is actually how I would imagine my bladder to speak to me.

Anyway, normally the nurses would bring a wheelchair to my bed for me swing myself into and I’d be wheeled to the toilet. When I explained that I was busting the new nurse on shift didn’t quite get it and as much as I persisted that I could go to the toilet if I had a chair she insisted that I use a bed pan. It wasn’t her fault, she was under instructions from physio not to let me out of bed.

But the poor girl did not know what she was letting herself in for.

She slipped the pan up underneath me and after talking me through what to do (I’ve seriously never felt so undignified in my life) stepped outside to leave me to it.

It started well… but I couldn’t stop. No matter how much I tried, I just could not stop peeing. I could feel it. The warm fluid rising… and rising, until it was touching my bum and that violent shade of tomato crept across my face again.

I’m sat in my own god damn wee. I have officially pissed on myself. Fuck you, bed pan. I knew you were shit.

I meekly called for Mel to come back in and apologised so hard that I thought I might throw myself on the floor and grovel. It had gone everywhere. And I was mortified. So I did all I could… which was cry a little bit.

Mel was amazing. She said it was her fault. She said she had totally forgotten I’d been in surgery and it was bound to be a massive wee and she should have brought the bigger pan.

The next ten minutes we spent rolling me around in bed, legs akimbo, bum hanging out of my gown, boobs totally mashed against my chin as I tried not to lay on my cannulas. She changed my sheets, took my gown off me and unpacked me some clothes from my suitcase. She gave me a little wipe and helped me get changed.

And we nodded in mutual friendship and understanding as she left my cubicle and my dignity still moderately intact.

Needless to say, the nurses let me get in a chair to go to the toilet from then on.

Shortly after my big pee ordeal, Martha and Alice peeped around the corner of my ward. I couldn’t have been happier to see them. It turns out they were milling about in Rocky when Guy uploaded a picture online of me laid up in hospital, which Fliss had made an off the cuff comment about our location on.

They then came to find me! Which wasn’t easy when there are two hospitals in Rockhampton.

They stayed a while and Fliss came back from relocating to the hostel that would be our home for the next week. We all sat chatting and keeping awake the other patients until all three left to go and enjoy a rodeo in town.


I just want to take this opportunity to publicly thank my family and friends for the support whilst I’ve been a cripple. Especially thank you to my incredibly brilliant little brother, Guy. Who from the moment he found me rolling around in the dirt did anything and everything to make my life easier and still provide me with a little bit of a holiday. This is not an exhaustive list but you hoisted me up, let me pee on your feet, endured witnessing way too much of my body, put me to bed, gave me piggy backs, brought me dinner and force fed me pain killers when I couldn’t bear to take anymore. You are an amazing person and I am lucky to have had you there to pick up the pieces… and I can not ever thank you enough.

I love you, bro.


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