Wednesday,
August 26, 2015
A little over a year ago, I was in the Adirondacks
on Cranberry Lake with my cousin Donnie.
We were camping on Joe Indian Island and I was sleeping reasonably
comfortably in my tent when I woke with back discomfort. I climbed out of the tent and went for
a walk to try and loosen it up, but it continued to get worse. Then it dawned on me. I knew this pain, but had tried to
erase it from my memory in the hope that it would never visit me again…but it
was…and it was a kidney stone. I
woke Donnie, explained the situation and an hour later we were back at the cars
and driving to the nearest hospital sixty miles away in Potsdam. After finding I was seriously
dehydrated and my kidneys were in distress, I was eased close to
unconsciousness with some wonderful drugs. I drove home the next day, but was soon in the hospital
again and suffered horribly for three days before the surgeon came in and took
it out.
And now I was lying in bed at two in the morning
and feeling that horrible pain returning.
I knew from the last CT scan a year ago that I still had three stones in
my right kidney. “They could stay
put forever and not give you any problems or they could start moving next
week,” the surgeon had told me. I
voted for staying put forever.
By three I was in full pain and panic mode. I threw up once and knew things were
going to get really bad really fast.
I was hoping to make it until 8 a.m. so that I could try to get in to
see the Urologist instead of the Emergency Room and texted Cecilia and Holly
for my support team.
Holly tried to doctor’s office at eight, but the
best they could do was an appointment for 3:30 p.m. “Let’s go to the ER,” I said. The pain was becoming unbearable.
I had Holly pull over on the short drive to the ER
so I could throw up again. She had
volunteered her quickly emptied lunch box as a catch basin, but I was pretty
sure the side of the road would be a better choice. I was checked in quickly and had some good drugs pulsing
through my system within the hour.
The nurse poked three holes in my arms trying to get some blood for
analysis, but with no luck. An
expert came in and I was flowing freely when he located the correct spot. I don’t really care about the holes…I
was in too much pain from the stones to notice her using me for acupuncture
practice, but if they’re incompetent in the area of drawing blood, I’m
surprised they let them do it. If
she needed practice, she certainly got some on me.
I waited a couple of hours for the CT scan results
and when they finally arrived the doctor came in to give me the verdict.
“Your stone is small, about 3 millimeters, and it’s
low so you should be able to pass it on your own,” he said.
“Thirty millimeters sounds big to me though I’m
kind of an inches and feet guy, doc, and I’m not going home without some
amazing drugs to keep me from slamming my head into my concrete laundry room
floor,” I said.
“That was THREE millimeters…not thirty, and yes,
we’ll give you something pretty strong,” he said. And then he was gone.
We stopped at the drug store to pick up the
chemicals I’d need to survive the passing and headed home. I had something to eat so the pills
wouldn’t eat holes in my stomach and lay down after Cecilia left. I fell asleep quickly and did not
exercise for the day.
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