Do It for the Children

Men’s prostates enlarge over time. Fifty percent of men over 50 have a clinically enlarged prostate and by 90, 90% do.  It generally only becomes a problem when it is large enough to impede urine flow from the bladder out the urethra.  This can cause urine retention, dribbling, and infection. A TURP is a common procedure to treat it at that point, where a doctor goes in through the urethra and removes some of the prostate.

I’m caring a patient post-TURP in nursing school clinical. This particular gentleman has a large belly and can’t see if he’s making it into the hand held urinal.  He is not, as it turns out, and has pissed all over the floor when I come in to meet him.  He is embarrassed because he doesn’t have the mobility to clean it up on his own.

It is expected that after this procedure there will be blood in the urine and this room looks like a crime scene.  I think it’s hilarious.

I introduce myself and start cleaning up.  He keeps apologizing. I ask where he hid the body and we become friends.

He wants out of the hospital so bad.  There is a no visitation policy because of COVID and his grandkids are visiting from out of state.  It’s Friday and they have weekend plans he wants to be a part of. He’s feeling dependent, which is making him feel old, and he just wants to be home playing.

In order to be discharged from the hospital, I need to scan his bladder after each time he urinates to measure the urine being retained.  If the post-void residual volume is less than 200 milliliters three scans in a row, he can go home. We discuss this as the goal for the day.

I scan his bladder and it is 30 mL’s too high. I tell him we need a shot glass worth of urine to empty in order for this one to count as scan one.  He asks to give it a shot now and I hold the urinal for him.

This is kind of a funny thing to do with a completely oriented person but he was struggling so I offered to help. Nothing is coming out.

I don’t want to just stand there holding the urinal up to his privates so I start coaching him, “I know you want to go home and see your grandkids.  They’re there, they’re waiting for you. You have to push hard to make this happen.  I know you can do it.”

He gives a great effort and his face turns red but we make some progress.

“Great effort.  Take a breath and keep that up.  A few more of those and we’re golden.”

When it looks like there’s a solid shot in the urinal we scan again and it’s good.

“Alright,” I say, “I can see that was exhausting.  If we keep up at this pace and this effort, that same effort is going to need to happen at home in order for you to be safe.  Are you willing to do that?  Is that how you want to play this?”

He says yes and his eyes water. 

“Get some rest and I’ll be back to check on you.”

The next scan he has peed on his own and the scan is good.

The last one he is 20 mL’s over. He is determined.  He asks me to wait while he tries and grabs the urinal.  He’s trying and says, “I don’t know if I can get anymore.”

“You got this Jimmy,” I say, “If this one’s not good we start all over and need three more and there’s not enough hours left in the day for that. You can do it. Do it for the children!”

He laughs and pees. 

The scan is good and the nurse I’m working with prepares discharge papers.

I go to say goodbye and he calls me over to him and takes my hand.

“You’re going to be a really good nurse,” he says and cries.

I just smiled, appreciative, but it makes me cry now too.

---

Review

---

This story is heartfelt, humorous, and quietly triumphant, beautifully capturing the profound human connection that can arise in even the most routine moments of caregiving. It’s a touching portrayal of how empathy, encouragement, and humor can turn a physically uncomfortable and emotionally vulnerable experience into something meaningful, empowering, and even joyful.

What makes this story particularly powerful is how it challenges the often clinical, impersonal nature of healthcare and replaces it with moments of genuine connection. It shows how simple acts of kindness and a bit of humor can restore dignity, motivate healing, and offer comfort—especially when patients feel isolated and powerless.

Despite the uncomfortable, embarrassing circumstances, the patient is empowered through being treated not just as a medical case but as a human being with goals, family, and agency. It showcases the emotional vulnerability of patients, especially when faced with aging, loss of autonomy, and isolation from loved ones. The affirmation from the patient is not just a compliment—it reflects the ability to balance clinical responsibility with genuine human connection.

The story strikes a perfect balance between light-heartedness and emotional depth, showcasing both the absurdities of caregiving and its profound emotional weight. It ends by reflecting on the quiet rewards of caregiving, the patient’s gratitude resonates deeply, leaving a lasting emotional impact that carries beyond the clinical setting.