On the Subtle Interplay Between Shy Bladder Syndrome, Dental Work and Therapy

Yesterday my department held a day-long retreat to talk about a lot of things which don't really involve me, but nevertheless provided me with an opportunity to get out of the office for the day.

It also provided me with an opportunity to have two extremely disconcerting and uncomfortable urinal incidents with top-level department heads, the first of whom was already at his urinal when I arrived and proceeded to first greet me and then stand with both hands on his hips while he alternated between drinking out of his coffee cup resting conveniently atop the urinal and looking around at various focal points in the men's room, including me standing at my own urinal pretending to urinate even though any chance of doing so was now nullified; and the second of whom is someone who just started at the hospital and is the Boss of the Bosses and so I wanted to meet him, just not in this particular setting, but then he said hi to me while we were making our simultaneous ways to our respective urinals (this was later in the day) and continued to talk to me throughout the duration of his own urination with his distal hand cocked on his hip and his face completely turned towards me standing at my own urinal trying to simultaneously hold some semblance of a meaningful conversation and be happy that the Boss of the Bosses was talking to me and do times tables in my head so that I could pee. Which I did, somehow, but only through sheer determination and my preternatural ability to place mind over matter.

Some day I'll share the story of what made me a Pee Shy Guy in the first place, a story which, in a nutshell, involves a 1987 basketball tournement, a locker room in a rival school's gymnasium, and three terrifying twelve year olds with a penchant for torturing younger children from other schools trying to peacefully urinate in a private stall.

I'll tell that story another day because right now, today, I am freshly arrived from getting my Brand New Temporary Crown placed, having finally received authorization from my insurance company to do so, but only after sending my Threatening Letter. It took so long to happen and I fought so hard for it that I kind of forgot what little fun it is to actually get a crown. So now I'm going to have to sue my insurance company when I bite my Novacained tongue off or burn my Novacained cheek off on my piping hot Trader Joe's Enchiladas Verde.

I'm going to speak for everyone involved when I say that it's a Good Thing I have therapy tonight.