👩⚕️ An immersive internship
Part 6: Doctor's appointment
⚠️ This is a work of fiction
⚠️ Reproduction and distribution prohibited
I slept rather well when my mom comes to wake me up, and I don't think about the system my mom installed for me yesterday afternoon until she mentions it.
"I had forgotten about it", I say with amusement.
"So it doesn't bother you", mom responds, "that's good. You're going to get up and I'm going to wash you with a washcloth, it will be faster."
"How long until the doctor's appointment?"
"It's in less than two hours, and I would like us to discuss what you can say and what not to say before."
Mom then takes me to the toilet where, like last night, she empties the contents of the urine bag into the toilet. She then washes me with a washcloth after taking off my pajamas. She then helps me get dressed with underwear, a t-shirt, and sweatpants, and then we have breakfast. Mom then explains how the appointment should go. A medical check-up and then questions about my incontinence. She explains that he might ask a lot of questions and it would be better if I let her answer. All of this suits me just fine and I'm not very worried. I think mom, however, is, even if she's trying not to show it.
Less than 45 minutes later, we are in the doctor's waiting room waiting for him to arrive. We are not alone, he must be running a little late. There is a young girl about 8 or 9 years old with her mom, a 4-year-old boy I think also with his mom, and a grandpa.
Regularly, my bladder empties without me controlling anything. It's always a strange feeling. At one point, mom tells me she needs to go to the bathroom and we smile at this situation where I no longer need to go. Then it's the little girl's turn to ask to go to the toilet. As time goes on, the waiting room empties, and now there are only the little boy and his mom and us. I see the mom put her son in front of her and pull down his shorts.
"You could have asked to go to the bathroom, Bastien," she tells him. "Your diaper is wet, it's not very nice for the doctor."
Bastien doesn't respond at all, and as soon as his mom pulls his shorts back up, he goes back to the toy box.
Less than five minutes later, the doctor opens the door and calls us. We follow him and enter his office where there are two chairs. He is a man of about 60, somewhat balding, with graying beard. He seems quite kind in the way he invites us to sit down.
"What brings you here?" he asks, crossing his hands on his desk.
"We need a medical certificate," mom starts. "My son suffers from urinary incontinence and without this certificate, I won't be able to enroll him in school under good conditions."
"That's not funny for you, is it?" he asks me, looking at me. "How long has it been?," he adds, looking at me.
I know the answer I must give but I prefer mom to respond. In fact, before I have time to answer, mom speaks up:
"It's congenital incontinence. We just moved to the area and that's why we don't have a regular doctor yet. His medical file is still at the hospital, and I was waiting to find a doctor here to ask his old one to transfer his medical history."
"I understand. Do you know what causes this incontinence? I imagine there have already been tests done? There are many possible causes: diabetes, bladder muscle weakness, dietary issues, epilepsy. Also, does Loïc have any other health concerns?"
"Besides this incontinence, Loïc is very healthy," mom responds, turning her head towards me. "And his incontinence is linked to a bladder malformation."
Mom responds confidently and seems very comfortable in her lies. I am surprised by her composure in front of this doctor. I just listen, not wanting to interfere in this discussion that seems to be going well for mom.
"What solutions have been put in place?" the doctor continues.
"Loïc mainly wears protective undergarments, but I occasionally perform catheterization, like today."
"You do it yourself?" the doctor asks, surprised.
"I am a nurse," mom says, "I have the experience and the habit."
"Okay," he replies, taking notes on his computer.
At that moment, I feel some urine escape from my bladder. I bow my head reflexively.
"Is everything okay, Loïc?" the doctor asks.
"Yes," I say, worried that I may have made a mistake by doing that.
"Alright, undress in the next room, I'm going to examine you."
So I get up from the chair and once again I feel something happening in my bladder. I just can't get used to it. If being a real incontinent means having to pee so often, it must be very debilitating. I think of Matthias, whom I saw a few days ago and who told me he wears diapers day and night.
"You can go," mom says, probably noticing that I am lost in my thoughts.
I take a few steps and find myself in the small examination room next to his office. I then start to undress. I hear mom and the doctor continue to talk, but I'm not paying attention to their conversation.
I am now in my underwear and t-shirt, but I'm not sure if I should undress more than that. I notice that my leg bag attached to my thigh is already a third full. It's not very practical to wear, I find. This tube that comes out of my body and reaches this receptacle is a bit cumbersome in my movements. Then the doctor arrives, followed shortly after by mom.
"Lie down on the examination table," the doctor says.
This is followed by a series of routine examinations that I comply with without saying anything: checking my blood pressure, listening to my heart, checking my ears. All very classic examinations with no connection to the false reason I am here for: my incontinence.
I admit I am a bit stressed, and I feel my heart beating faster and harder than normal. The doctor doesn't seem to notice. Mom, on the other hand, watches me smiling and seems as confident as ever.
That's when the doctor begins to palpate my stomach with his hands.
"If you have already found the cause of Loïc's incontinence," the doctor says to mom, "I might not need to redo tests. But tell me, how long has it been since you last had an ultrasound or an MRI?"
For the first time, I sense mom hesitating in her response.
"I'd say about a year," she finally says.
"Then I will still prescribe you to undergo an exam. This will help to know where we stand, and for me to have concrete evidence for my diagnosis."
"Can you still provide me with a medical certificate confirming his incontinence?" mom asks. "We need it for his school enrollment."
"Yes of course, don't worry, I'll do that. It would be a shame for a boy in such good health not to be able to go, he would have to stay home playing video games," he adds, laughing.
His remark makes me laugh. At that exact moment, as his hands remain on my stomach, he presses a bit harder and I see yellow urine flow into the transparent tube.
"Your urine seems concentrated," the doctor says, looking at me. "Don't forget to drink enough. It's important, you know."
"I know," I say , "mom tells me often."
"And you must drink water," he adds, "sodas are not very good for your health. And avoid beer, wine, and strong spirits too."
Once again, he makes me laugh. I like this doctor, he is nice, explains well, and has a sense of humor.
"I'm trying to stop drinking strong alcohol," I reply, smiling, "but it's not easy. And cigarettes, I don't smoke more than two packs a day."
"Very well, you're reasonable," he adds, laughing at my joke as well. "You can get dressed," he says, "join us next door when you're ready."
So they both leave me, and as before, I hear them talking while I put my clothes back on. It seems like everything went well, mom will be able to add this medical certificate to the file, and maybe we can go and drop it off right away.
When I return to them, the doctor is giving mom various papers.
"Here is the medical certificate stating that Loïc is incontinent. Here is also a prescription for an ultrasound and another for a blood test."
"Thank you, doctor," mom says.
Shortly after, mom pays for the consultation and we say goodbye. It's only once we're outside the doctor's office that mom and I start talking:
"You were perfect," mom says happily.
"You weren't bad either," I say with a smile. "I thought you were confident and very convincing."
"I also think I did well," mom says, laughing.
"Are we going to drop off the file now?"
"If you want to, yes, we will get it done."
On the way to the association, I think about my urinary catheter, the fact that mom didn't tell me when she would remove it.
"When are you going to remove it?" I ask mom.
"Are you talking about the urinary catheter?"
"Yes, when you installed it, you didn't tell me when you were going to remove it. Now that the doctor's appointment is over, is it still needed?"
"A urinary catheter can be kept for several weeks," mom replies.
"Am I going to keep it for that long?" I ask, very surprised.
"I explained that people with incontinence wear that or diapers, and as long as our file isn't truly validated, I would prefer you do the same if you still agree. Do you understand?"
"I understand… But what am I going to wear?"
"What do you prefer?"
"Diapers are more visible and not practical if I can't pee in them because I'll have to hold it when we're at home since I won't be able to go to the bathroom. And the catheter is more discreet but I don't like the leg bag attached, I find it annoying."
"Take some time to think about it. Weigh the pros and cons of each solution."
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