There was no ticking, but building pressure told me that soon my time would be up. The EMT/Nurse worked with intensity over my abdomen. He was calm and he kept me engaged while focused on defusing the “device”. Trial and failure, trial and failure… my heart rate and blood pressure rose in tandem. Beads of sweat were appearing on his forehead. Images of action movies came to mind; a hapless victim locked into an explosive vest, bomb disposal people working feverishly to save him… a race against the clock… (Continued later in this post)

June 3^rd, The University of Kansas Medical Center: I was prepped and wheeled into the operating room. I had met with the surgeon, his resident assistant, and the anesthesiologist doctor and her resident assistant. All was in order and proceeding as planned. The Aquablation procedure was novel, minimally invasive, and primarily robotic. In a matter of minutes it held promise to resolve my annoying problem. The one faced by the vast majority of men “of a certain age” , BPH.

Over the last 20 years urination has become increasingly difficult. A weakening “stream”, multiple trips to the bathroom at night, incomplete voiding. In the general population it is estimated that half of all men show symptoms by age 60 and 90% by age 85. Not all require treatment, and BPH often responds favorably to daily medication. However, my age and genetics were both against me. Medication had become less effective and the condition more impactful on my quality of life.

TURP (transurethral resection of the prostate) has been the surgical standard of care for BPH. I did not wish to undergo this procedure as there was a small, but not insignificant, risk of erectile disfunction, incontinence, and retrograde ejaculation. (Yes, those things still matter to me/us!)

Earlier this year, during my annual visit with the urologist, Aquablation was presented to me for the first time as an option. A little research on my part and it seemed to “check all the right boxes”. Although in common use for less than 5 years, it looks to replace TURP as the standard of care. Robotic, it was performed in a tenth of the time, virtually no erectile or incontinence problems, and highly effective. I was sold.

The surgery went well. An overnight in the hospital with an irrigation catheter was expected. The “test” the following morning would determine if I would go home with/without the catheter. I failed the “test” (about half do, the ability to fully void). June 4^th, I went home with the catheter in place. It was to be removed the following Monday, June 9^th.

June 6^th, (afternoon): Urine stopped flowing through the catheter. Christine and I followed instructions for resolving a blockage, but no-go. A trip to meet a urology resident physician at the hospital fixed the problem.

June 6^th. (late night): Urine again stopped flowing through the catheter. Another trip to see the resident physician at the hospital. It was decided to replace the catheter but first run another voiding “test”. I PASSED!! Not only did I “pass”, but instead of a squirt gun, I was like a firehose! There was some blood in the urine, not uncommon and likely to continue for a week or more as I healed. Instructions: No lifting, no straining, no significant physical activity… and no sex for the next 4 weeks.

June 9^th: I had come down with a nasty case of bronchitis. A visit to urgent care, an x-ray and medications prescribed. Back home and resting miserably.

June 10^th: Christine has caught my bronchitis. It is worse with her.

June 11^th: Christine passes out and does a hard “face-plant” on the bathroom floor. I hear her panicked call for me followed by a loud “thud”. Running into the bathroom I see my wife on the floor, eyes open but rolled up in her head. She is unresponsive. In a panic, I call 911. The ambulance is on the way. I try and revive her. Nothing. I begin to position her for CPR. Am I a widower? Panic, tears, repeatedly calling her name… SHE BREATHES!!! She responds to my voice, moving her hands and feet on my request, but still otherwise immobile. Stroke?

Our daughter Alexis (who is a nurse) and the ambulance arrive. Christine is transported to St. Luke’s Hospital, less than 2 miles from our home. Their emergency room is packed, and Christine is relegated to a bed in a hallway. Triage and a CT scan confirm that she is negative for stroke. There is more testing (negative for a heart attack) and an IV saline drip seems to really bring her around. 4 hours later and we are heading back home. The diagnosis: severe dehydration secondary to the bronchitis.

June 19^th. It is our 48^th anniversary and we have evening dinner plans. However, that morning I go to the bathroom and “midstream” everything stops! I can’t pee! Off to the emergency room and The University of Kansas Hospital (KU Med, about 4 miles from our home). Hydration to build some pressure and if that doesn’t work a catheter. With one last attempt I pass a large blood clot and urine is again free flowing. We return home but dinner plans are cancelled. Carryout ice cream is the substitute.

June 26^th: Again, I suddenly can’t urinate. We are back in the ER at KU Med. It is necessary to insert a catheter to bring relief. I am held for observation and fluids are pushed into me. Later that night urine stops flowing in the catheter. I feel pressure building in my abdomen and I urgently and repeatedly hit the button for the nurse.

(Resumed from the start of this post) …The catheter has multiple ports. One to inflate the balloon that holds it in place, one for irrigation purposes, and the exit for drainage. My nurse is a former EMT, accustomed to being adaptive to emergency situations and calming “victims”. He is the BEST. Like trying to rock a car back and forth to get it unstuck from a snowdrift, he repeatedly pushes and then attempts to pull water into and out of the catheter ports with a huge syringe. Finally, a huge blood clot is drawn out and the flow resumes. We are both overcome with relief.

June 27^th: I am still in the emergency room. It has been 24 hours and the attending urologist has admitted me. A room has become available in the urology section on the 8^th floor. However, as I am being prepped for the move, the catheter again blocks. My emergency room nurse is unable to quickly free the blockage. A call is made to the 8^th floor and a physician’s assistant (PA) is awaiting my arrival to work on the problem. As she later explains, she is authorized to be “more aggressive”.

After many tries and failures, and with herculean effort, she manages to dislodge and remove countless large and small blood clots through the catheter, at least a cupful. A surgical team was the next step if she had not succeeded.

June 28^th: It appears that the internal bleeding that had been the source of the clots has finally stopped. It is decided to do another urine trial. The catheter is removed and I am instructed to “push fluids”. I give three consecutive urine specimens, each as I need to pee. It is hoped that they will become progressively lighter in color, indicating the hemorrhaging has ended. SUCCESS!! I am visited by the head urologist and his surgery team. They are happy to inform me that their intervention is not deemed necessary. I am released to go home.

For the next few days I suffer from PTPD (post traumatic pee disorder). Every visit to the bathroom brings with it the lingering anxiety, “Will the bleeding return?” Thankfully, it does not. All clear, literally and figuratively. Interestingly enough, there is an actual diagnosable condition called “urophobia” the fear of things relating to urine. Who knew.

I understand that a very small percent of patients have post-surgery complications from Aquablation. I must represent the entire population. Lucky in love, unlucky in the operating room. I am the person who manages to make the simple complicated. Through it all Christine has been steadfast at my side. I have said it before and I will say it again, in the marriage lottery I hit the jackpot.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. There is more: June 29^th: It is 4 a.m., we are in the middle of a thunderstorm. I am resting awake in bed. FLASH, CRASH… lightning has struck somewhere very close to us. Christine “jumped out of her skin”. With the passing of shock-driven adrenaline we fall back to sleep.

The next morning: My laptop computer stopped charging, our elevator (yes we have one) indicates that it is on the 5^th floor of our two-story house. My hybrid EV car isn’t charging. I resolve everything except the elevator, but later in the week we find that our irrigation system controller is “fried” and the 8-note manual strike doorbell Westminster chimes no longer work.

Yesterday we found chunks of bark on our front porch. 50 feet away our monumental pine tree located in the front yard looks like a 30-foot-tall bear has used it as a scratching post. I fear that this beautiful tree is standing with one root in the grave. We have contacted our insurance company and an arborist.

PPS. Our son Peter and grandson, also Peter, visited this morning. Son Peter shared a joke: Three men “up in their years” were bemoaning the ravages of their advanced age. The first complained that he wished he could again have bowel movements without resorting to laxatives. The second complained about the weakness of his urine stream, the difficulty starting and the start/stop to completion. The third man said, “At 6 a.m. every morning, and without difficulty or assistance, I completely empty my bladder and have a full bowel movement.” In unison, his friends replied, “Then why for God’s sake are you complaining!”

“I wake up at 7:30 a.m..”

One more time, Peace Everyone. Pete

Kansas City, July 4, 2025.

A few blocks from our home in Kansas City is St. Teresa’s Academy (STA). This premier private all-girls high school was founded in 1866 by the Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet. It is located on a parklike 20-acre campus.

6 years ago, our then 5^th grade granddaughter, Delaney, told Christine that she hoped to attend St. Teresa’s in high school. Her resolve was such that Grandmother Christine interceded with the administration on Delaney’s behalf to arrange for her to participate in the annual “shadow day” as a 6^th grader. Normally reserved for 8^th graders, Delaney was welcomed again in the 7^th and finally the 8^th grade. Her determination, good grades, and community service resulted in her admission to the Freshman class at STA in 2023.

Last week Christine and I joined Delaney, and her friend Phoebe, for Grandparents Day at STA.

Hundreds of grandparents enjoyed coffee and sweets before joining their granddaughters for Mass and a campus tour. We were proud to be Phoebe’s “grandparents for a day”.

550 young women attend St. Teresa’s Academy. Strong in academics, the school features over 125 course offerings which include advance placement (AP) classes through Rockhurst University, St. Louis University, and the University of Missouri at Kansas City. Over 98% of STA students proceed directly on to 4-year college and university studies.

The student body and faculty are diverse and inclusive, originating from varied cultural, racial, ethnic and economic backgrounds. Although a school guided by Catholic faith and social principles, girls from all faith traditions are welcomed.

STA is equally strong in athletics. The campus features a state-of-the-art gymnasium and outdoor track/sports complex. STA girls compete at the highest level in basketball, cross country, soccer, volleyball, track, golf, softball, swimming, tennis, dance, lacrosse, and most recently wrestling.

As a 5^th grader Delaney declared her intention to someday become a “pediatric orthopedic surgeon”. Perhaps that ambition was driven by her frequent contact with health care professionals in her early years. Delaney is one of three surviving quadruplets. She and her siblings were born very early and very tiny. To look at Delaney, Britton and Simon today one would never suspect their struggles to survive their first year.

It is all too common for people of my generation to criticize today’s youth. The misdeeds of some young people make for sensational fodder in the news cycle. However, the real story too often untold, is that the future will be in good hands with these leaders of tomorrow… if the leaders of today don’t trash it all first.

Peace Everyone. Pete