In this, our fourth and final glance at attending a wedding from a catheter user’s perspective, I should say: I do like weddings really. And I’m not a socially anxious person; I just like to plan. But you tell me about one wedding that didn’t drag on at least an hour too long, and I’ll show you a bunch of tired guests secretly wishing they’d not agreed to share a lift home at midnight.

Like drunk uncles attempting The Macarena on the dancefloor, timings have a tendency to slip. So at weddings, I like to know what’s going to happen and when. Come on, bride and groom, don’t keep us in suspense (and hunger); tell us when to expect dinner, speeches and cake. I don’t want to be just thinking of going to the bathroom, only to find ninety minutes of bridesmaid-thanking and groom-embarrassing stands in the way.

At this recent wedding, my dad was there too – and he actually prolonged my bladder endurance, by helping drag out the speeches, making me suffer more. How? Why? Because of a stupid sweepstake. Our table took bets on how long the speeches would last. Everyone put a buck in the middle, and wrote down their guesses for the combined time-span of wafflings from father of the bride, groom and best man. And they went on, and on... passing everyone’s guesses except for mine and my dad’s. I guessed a total of forty-five minutes. My dad guessed longer than anyone, at forty-eight minutes. As my stopwatch ticked past forty-five, and as my bladder ticked well past toilet o’clock, it looked like the best man was wrapping up. If he finished as he planned, I was set to win...

My dad wasn’t having that. So while we all willed the best man to finally sit, my dad started heckling: “You haven’t thanked the bar staff!” The best man blushed and gave a quick thanks to them, before my dad chimed in again: “And how about applause for Aunty Gloria?” Indeed yes, we all were glad Aunty Gloria had made it along today, and she gave a little wave, and my bladder gave a little sigh, and the stopwatch trundled on towards forty-eight minutes.

My own father. The big cheat. I hope the eight bucks was worth it.

So here’s to the happy couple, and to all future wedding days. And when I’m best man at a wedding next year, I’ll be keeping my speech mercifully short. At least, I will if I’ve not managed to get to the bathroom beforehand...

The opinions expressed here are of a personal and anecdotal nature, and are in no way a substitute for professional medical advice. You should always consult your doctor or nurse if you have any questions.