'M'ore of the 'S'ame

Met with the urologist today. Resigned to the reality of planning for the replumb of my piping. Weighted down by worry, we waited and waited.
The nurse was chipper and too much like a cheer leader who didn't know the basics of the game.
I was a good patient, armed with questions and 'I Think I can' plans. Usually this doc is empathetic and helpful. Today he seemed hurried and distracted. I could see that while his body was in the room, his mind was caught in some thing, somewhere else.
Long and the short of it: no surgery, for now. And, no sub-cu catheter either. I should be waving pom poms of my own to be rid of the damnable thing. However, I now must figure out how to live with this bladder. The doc is referring us to a rehab doc to help us decide if my hands are able to manage the mechanics of either of the new catheter options.
But, the reality is that after a few minutes with the doc he was summoned to a scheduled phone call and we were left alone. The chippy nurse walked us out with lots of head nods, 'I don't knows,' and let me check on that.
But no answers. I am at home with a non functioning bladder soldiering on. Sludge, slog, slog, slog.
I have already had my first flood, and am facing the indignity of Depends.
While the doc moves on the his next patient, I am left to manage with few answers. What is new about this state of affairs. It feels achingly familiar to the rest of my life.