My poor hubby has been diagnosed with bladder cancer. Smart doc says "Six weeks of treatments, and you'll be good as new." Hubby complies, reluctantly.
The treatments are designed to be as uncomfortable and embarrassing as they possibly can be. This is to encourage those who are diagnosed with bladder cancer to CHANGE their lifestyle. Hubby is changing, somewhat reluctantly. It bugs me that he's not doing it fast enough, to my way of thinking, but that's for another post.
The treatments involve sticking a 16-inch catheter into the bladder (I'll leave to the imagination the route the catheter takes) and pumping in some dreadful chemical designed to boost the immune system. Dreadful chemical is so virulent that when hubby pees he must put buckets of bleach into the toilet and let it sit for 20 minutes before flushing.
Okay... we're getting to what bugs me about the whole thing.
Hubby has been for three treatments.
Each and every time, there's been a different nurse. One time, there were TWO nurses.
What's with that? WHO would CHOOSE to do that job, on purpose? Can you imagine someone asking, "What do you do for a living?" Er, um.... I pump dreadful chemicals into men. "And how do you do that?" Er, um....
You'd think there'd be ONE nurse in the hospital assigned to that job. That way, hubby could get used to that particular nurse. But oh, no. Not one. Many, many nurses.
Isobel says that they change the nurses so you don't develop a RELATIONSHIP with them. Hee, hee, ho ho.
It'll be interesting to see if the next three weeks brings three (or four) new nurses.