At 11:38  1/02/00 , Steve Hogan wrote:
>Claudia,
>
>Never had this problem myself. I had the other problem of trying on a size 
>(first time) that was too small. My wife laughed her ass off. I failed to 
>see the humor the same way she did as it HURT! I got the next larger size
>and that fixed
>the problem. Not like a condom at all (the glue really makes it different)
>
>Regards
>
>Steve



Not like the problem I had. I was trying on one that I though
should have fit (it was a medium) and it was too big. Far too
big. Where do these things come from? the land of the giants
or somewhere? This thing was so big, in fact, that I lost my 
balance and fell right in!

I braced myself for a terrific crash and some bad grazing
as I hit the walls but the glue on the inside of the latex 
bag caught my clothing and stuck me there, trapped halfway 
twixt lip and tip, like a fly on flypaper. Apart from the 
tightness of my underpants which seemed to have assumed the 
role of some kind of punishment harness in some torturous 
sado-masochistic game, the experience was a lot less jarring 
than if I'd fallen in to an empty grain silo onto my head 
or something.

Well there I was, trapped stickily inside this tough latex 
sheath and do you think I could free myself to reach the lip 
& haul myself out? No way!

For some reason I was wearing a day pack when I fell which 
just happened to contain a couple of bottles of soda, a flask of
coffee, some glucose tablets, some salt tabs, three hi-energy 
chocolate bars and a big bag of nuts, so I knew my diet was 
going to be totally fucked unless I got out of there.

The pack also contained a TDI Trimix instroketor manual so
if I had to wait longer than two and a half minutes for rescue, 
I'd be fucked for reading material too.

All this bother, I thought, over a fucking uri-dom. Next
time I'll just piss in my pants in the car on the way to the 
dive site like the long-term deep air heroes with their 
'bone leisions of bravery' do, and then I won't have to worry 
about these ridiculous condom catheter dramas.

My predicament brought back memories of a previous incident
where I slipped and fell heavily while pulling on a shoulder 
entry drysuit, plunging in through the zip and sliding all the 
way down into the left boot, sustaining some pretty nasty 
friction burns on the way (safety note: always use LOTS of talc 
when putting on your drysuit). It took me three and a half 
days to hike back out of that little pickle. I could have made 
it in two but I took a wrong turn in the darkness, missed the 
zipper entry, and ended up transitting the right arm and exiting 
through the wrist seal, exhausted but alive!

I don't know about you, but when faced with a dire emergency 
such as this, I believe it is important to have a PLAN. Without
a plan, a man (and I don't mean 'man' in a sexist way, I just 
doubt a woman would find herself in the particular predicament
of falling arse over tip into a condom catheter a zillion sizes 
too big) as I was saying, without a plan, a man tends to exist
but a hair's-breadth from emotional breakdown and blubbering
hysteria. But WITH a plan a man has support, a foundation, some-
thing big and solid to cling to - like the mast of a sinking 
ship - while you watch your life turn to shit and you die
screaming.

SO I figured that before I broke into frenzied activity, I
would hang there stuck to the inside wall of that too big
condom, doi some deep breathing excercises, eat a chocolate 
bar and work out a PLAN.

The first plan was duly thought out. It comprised the idea
to hang here and consume another chocolate bar and see if
a better plan presented itself.

No luck.

Thre chocolate bars a bag of nuts two bottles of soda and a
thermos flask of coffee later, still no better plan. The back 
of my underpants were now pressing uncomfortably right up 
into the crack of my arse and the first beads of the sweat 
of panic moistened my forehead. I also had all these little 
bits of nuts stuck between my teeth. I hated that most of 
all.

Fuck this, I thought. I wish Jeffrey Swann was here. He could
cheer us up with a few condom jokes. He likes condom jokes. He
even wrote to the techdiver list to tell everybody how much
he liked them. It takes all sorts, I suppose.

It was just as I was speculating on the size of the brain of 
the Darwinian Swann that I began to feel the beginnings 
of a certain tension in the bladder as when half a gallon of 
soda, urged on by a big hit off caffein, decides to make its 
initial run through the nether regions before bursting out
into the open in a paroxysm of relief before describing a 
graceful golden arc into the white porcelain throat of the 
septic goddess Vitreous.

The thought started as a mere flicker. A rubbing together
of no more than two or three brain cells in some obscure back
water of the cerebellum. But before two minutes had passed, 
the thought of urinating had taken hold of my mind and 
inhabited every nook and crany of my being.

I wanted to be free. I wanted to get out of there. I wanted
to be unglued from the wall of the condom catheter. I wanted
a million dollars and a mansion with big pillars at the 
front in Florida, I wanted love, good health, peace on earth
and good will to all men (and women). I wanted an end to world 
poverty, divine grace and life ever after. But more than all of 
that, I WANTED TO PISS!!!

I began to sob quietly.

----------------------------------author's note-----------------
Guys, I have to go away on a shoot for a couple of days. 
If you like, I'll tell you the rest of this tragic and frightening
story when I get back. The ending will shock you. The thought of
it is terrifying me right now. 


rgrds     billyw


> > -----Original Message-----
> > From: Claudia Milz [mailto:cmilz@mi*.ed*]
> > Sent: Monday, January 31, 2000 8:29 AM
> > To: Steve Hogan
> > Cc: Tech list
> > Subject: RE: Catheters was: stadiumpal
> > 
> > 
> > Steve,
> > 
> > > Trying to use a large one when one is not causes lots of leaks that
> > > the glue cannot overcome 
> > <snip> (sorry about that ...;-)
> > Then you'd you end up having two problems: an ego problem AND a 
> > processed Gatorade in your drysuit. That must suck.
> > 
> > Claudia 
> > 
>
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