It wasn't pre-surg. I caught mine with elevated PSA before the symptoms got
past the usual middle-age urinary bothers.
It wasn't the surgery; I slept through that.
It hasn't been the few days at home following surgery; I carry around the
bucket and get to sleep through the night for a welcome change. I haven't
yet felt any abdominal pain except for a few hiccups (I haven't sneezed
yet).
The worst part, by FAR, was the post-op week in the hospital (the bowel
resection kept me there longer than the RRP would have). Here's where
on-site assistance from a significant other, and assertive, even aggressive,
outspokenness, are vital.

The bottom line was that the nurses would NOT listen. The surgeons gave me
four vital directives:
1. Sleep (it aids healing).
2. Walk (it aids mobility).
3. After the IVs are done, Drink (to aid healing, wake up the bowel, and
flush the urinary tract of clots).
4. Take certain meds.

1. Impossible.

Even the fan my wife brought in left me sweating all day and night. I stuck
to the sheets so thoroughly I couldn't slide over to make room to roll over.
The ward was 15 degrees hotter than we keep our home this time of the year,
so even sprawling out covered only by a sheet corner over my loins was
miserable ("But I LIKE 80 degrees", said one nurse). Between the heat and
the morphine IV dehydration, I could not speak until they provided me with a
humidified air mask. One nurse walked away because she couldn't understand
my raspy attempts to communicate, and I normally have a strong, clear voice.
When I requested help getting unstuck from the sheets so I could slide over
enough to roll over without cramming my face into the bed rail, one nurse
insisted I was comfortable and refused to help (I had been in one position
for five hours).

The guy in the next bed was on his cell phone 18 hours a day, taking
incoming rings well before dawn. The staff not only allowed this, but talked
loudly to one another and to other patients across the ward and down the
hallways throughout the night. Even through my earplug (one ear is deaf), my
sound-deadening memory foam pillow, and the narcotics, sleep was extremely
difficult.

The last straw was on the second morning post-op, when some IDIOT awoke me
to offer me a moist towelette even before the clown's cell phone rang. I
insisted to my surgeon on his rounds a couple of hours later that I HAD to
get some relief, that I had slept only 6-7 hours in the two days since my
surgery. He raised enough hell to get me into a private room reserved for
VIPs (colonels? Generals? Didn't know, didn't care; I was exhausted). He
told the staff to let me sleep (I had been awakened six times in one hour
plus another 6-8 times the rest of the night for routine checks), after
which they came only to check my catheter bag and performed all their other
checks only when I rang for a nurse because my IV was beeping at me. Then a
nurse dropped my room temp by 10 degrees, after which I actually began to
get some sleep, aided by their Benadryl injection. Of course, they didn't
tell me Benadryl and narcotics are a dangerous mix, even after I asked them
to cut back after the Benadryl left me unable to function. I knew I wanted
to move my hand, for example, but couldn't figure out how to do it.

And every nurse said I was wrong when I said I needed to pee. "You're on a
catheter; you drain continuously." "No, I've always had trouble with
catheters. I've peed a hundred thousand times, and know the feeling. I have
to PEE, NOW! I'm starting to hurt." I've had this fight with a dozen nurses
and docs, and every time I've had to fix the problem myself my moving around
until I blast the apparatus almost out of their hands with a huge
bladderfull. 700 ccs at once is a LOAD of urine. Dammit, people, LISTEN TO
YOUR PATIENTS!

2. Help me to my feet and explain how to walk around with the IVs on Post-OP
Day 2? "Sorry. Try Shawna". After several hours, one nurse finally told me
they weren't very busy that day, and got me some help for that first walk. I
think the lazy bastards would have let me rot there for days if I hadn't
pushed hard or just figured it out for myself, as I finally did. They were
content to help me with a few steps across the room or even into the hall,
and were surprised to find me all over the big hospital on my own hours
later. The doc said WALK, WALK, WALK, so I was walking a few miles a day by
Day 4, with the surgeon's approval. That would never have happened if it
were up to the nurses.

3. Once off the IV, I forced fluids down all day, but they still sent me
home dehydrated. The nurses told me to stop drinking after supper, even
though I insisted I was dehydrated and showed them the signs (dessicated
skin on the backs of the hands). I kept drinking, but still didn't pee for
about 30 hours after I left the hospital, despite drinkng constantly day and
night. My urine got so thick it clogged my catheter, so my first night home
was spent in an ER until 3:AM getting the problem fixed and my catheter
replaced -- great fun while wide awake.

4. Five different nurses tried to get me to take a very harsh chemical
laxative my bowel surgeon said to avoid and which, I informed them, put me
in prolonged 9-scale pain at my first exposure to it decades earllier.
Fortunately I was alert enough to refuse, adamantly if necessary, and
explain why -- even after I informed the surgeon what they were foisting on
me. It took him two more days to straighten them out.

And this is an iceberg tip. The whole story would actually get long.

Significant others, your mate needs you day and night in these damn places.
They're too drugged to think clearly or remember much, and unless they speak
out and demand some respect, they will suffer needlessly. KNOWN hospital
errors kill 4.5 times as many people as do automobiles, and creature comfort
suffers far worse. Nurses are overworked, and many of them become robots
after a few years, turning the crank without listening. Get in the game and
safeguard your friends.

I.P.