Ben "Coach" Wade from the TV show Survivor is one interesting fella. Yep, in additon to being one of the biggest windbag's I've ever seen, he's apparently been up to some interesting things in in his life time. Among them: being held captive by a tribe of blood-thristy cannabilistic Pygme's (had to escape by "calling in a favor" to the military who sent in a chopper ASAP to rescue him), setting a world's record (of which there is no record of) in long-distance kayaking which in turn upon telling the story during a chance meeting with Tom Hanks, inspired the movie "Castaway". He also apparently knows a super secret form of Chinese martial arts that only him and the guy that taught it to him knows. Yes, he's braved the Amazon solo, conducts orchestras and is the pinnacle of honesty and integrity ( no matter that he got fired from his coaching job at Southwest Baptist University for faking a brain tumor).
So in the spirit of full disclosure that Coach so obviously lives by, I'd like to present my own Dragon Slayer List of accomplishments. Do not let your credulity be strained my friends, just know that I am simply cooler and more interesting than the rest of you:
1) The Bourne movie trilogy, Under Siege and the MacGyver TV series are all based on me. Yep, that's alot of bad-assery to accomplish in one lifetime, but them's the breaks.
2) I was the second gunman on the grassy knoll. I know the JFK assassination happened 12 years before I was born, but I'm THAT good.
3) In order to accomplish #2, I fashioned a homemade device out of wire coathangers, bubble gum and pocket lint in order to travel back in time, which I called the Flux Capacitor. Inadvertently I inspired the Back To The Future franchise as well.
4) During my duties as Minister of Badass in the Congo, I was captured by Russian Commandos in disguise as Zebras and thrown into a pit of poisonous vipers, left to die. But I survived by learning the viper's language, thus being able to communicate with them, earning their trust and loyalty. Whilst in the pit, I created a deadly form of martial arts called Snake Kune Do based on the efficient movements of the slinky reptiles. I trained with my viper bretheren as I formulated my plan of escape. In the end, I took my revenge upon my Russian captors by climbing up a rope I patiently made from shedded snake skins and leading my Serpent Army into pitched combat.
5) I am the one man Chuck Norris fears.
6) I stay healthy from the sweet nectar of young flowers in my coffee brought directly to me fresh every morning by hummingbirds.
7) I wrote the songs that make the whole world sing.
8) I was able to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.
9) 9/11 was just a botched assassination attempt on me. I live with that guilt everyday.
10) Salma Hayek's baby is really mine.
-Jim
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Friday, April 3, 2009
Journey of a Kidney Stone- Part II
As I'm being wheeled into my room, the nurse asks me a couple of generic questions about the pain. She confidently says, "Sounds like a kidney stone". And while part of me is relieved it's more than likely nothing more relatively simple as that, another part of me was saying "Whoah! Let's not be so quick to diagnose and dismiss other things such as ebola..my insides feel like they're going to liquify and run out of me. Let's keep an open mind here, okay?"
I receive the standard open back gown to adorn myself with which I don't even bother tying. No way in hell I can navigate performing Boy Scout knot tying techniques behind my back in this condition.
About this time Maureen shows up, followed shortly by my step-father Bill. Maureen looks terrible. Poor thing! I find out she practically had a nervous breakdown on the way over. For one, I'm Mr. Healthy and it completely freaked her out that I'm suddenly being rushed to the hospital. She's seen me in a doctor's office maybe twice the entire time we've been together. And, on the more pracitcal side, thanks to the wonderful tanking economy I am unemployed and therefore without any sort of health insurance. And did I mention we have a baby on the way? So she's having visions of her new husband and father-to-be to her kid dying on the operating table in the middle of some major catastrophic surgery and the mailbox full of ridiculously large doctor bills. But by the time she got to the hospital she was calmed down and was actually relieved at the prospect of a kidney stone.
Another nurse comes in and asks, "On a scale of one to ten..." before she even finishes I blurt out "TEN!!" She writes some more notes in my chart. I get sent to pee in a cup and a nurse practioner in training is waiting for me when I come back. She's doing the preliminary check. And another nurse is getting me hooked up to an IV. At this point I've seen quite a few people but nobody with any drugs. I'm tired of answering questions and want some relief dammit!! I'm actually starting to feel a bit better. I still can't lay completely still because of pain, but I feel a tad more relaxed. I guess it was the psychological effect of finally being in the hospital to get some treatment.
So now the room is full of people: Maureen, my Mom, Bill, a regular rotation of nurses and the billing lady who keeps popping in and out to get Maureen to fill out paperwork for the all important billing process. And I'm feeling kinda all warm and fuzzy inside, seeing everyone's genuine concern for my well-being. Oh wait....no, everyone OUT!! I feel "that" feeling in my throat again. I'm gonna get sick. Really sick. And my concern isn't that I don't want people watching me barf because I'm vain, I'm just worried I'm gonna set off a domino effect of sympathy barfing. I mean, the room is at capacity and it would just be a horrible, horrible scene if that happened, you know? Funny, but horrible. I sit straight up and Maureen notices right away,"You gonna be sick?". I nod and instantly she thoughfully shuts the curtain between me and the rest of the world. I grab my trusty Target barf bag. (On a side note, if anyone from Target is reading this, you could make a killing selling Target barf bags with the Target bullseye logo at the bottom of the bag. Consider it.) I let loose, so violently I miss the bag. And it's also about this time that I realize I had never taken my socks off, as my left sock is now soaked.
You realize the professionalism of these nurses as this is going on. They buzz around, doing their nursely things totally oblivious to the carnage happening a mere two feet away from them. I doubt I could perform my job so stoicly while someone was blowing chunks all over MY workplace. Bravo ladies, bravo. One casually hands me a brand new barf bag (an official hospital issue one..looks like a big blue condom) as Maureen bravely throws my old one away. I was kinda sad to see it go..we had been through alot together. My Mom starts giving me wet paper towels for me to attempt to clean myself up. Two barf bags later the intestinal seige stops and I collapse back onto the bed.
About this time, the official PA shows up with the trainee I saw earlier in tow. Big smiles from them and a "How are you feeling?" I appreciate the question, but really, a picture is worth a thousand words: I'm laying there, dried vomit on my chin, on my gown and all over my sock (and btw, how about letting a guy have a nice new gown to change into?). Ronald Peregoy, hell of a nice guy with awesome bedside manner. If I had a terminal disease I'd want him to break the news. With his warm smile, calm demeanor and a slap on the shoulder he'd make you feel a-okay with only having two weeks left to live....even make you feel guilty for stretching it out that long. I wish I could remember the nurses names and the NP in training as well, because they were all awesome. But my first reaction at the sight of this man is "Finally, the man with the DRUGS!". But instead of injecting me with something wonderful, he starts the same series of questions I've already answered. Yep, pain still a ten, still vomiting, still dying.
He sits down and tells me that there was alot of blood in the urine sample I gave, which is normal for a stone. Shards of flaming glass coated in pure evil ripping through your inside will do that (my words, not his). And based on my other symptoms, he's certain it was a stone. He set me up with a CT scan and said he was going to put in an order for pain and nausuea meds (Hallelujah). He said it was a specific type of pain med especially helpful with stones, so if it works that would further solidify the kidney stone diagnosis. And while I was happy that the ball was finally rolling on the drugs, I couldn't help but wonder why he couldn't just inject me right there and THEN write the order? The cabinet with the good stuff was right next to the bed and obviously I feel less than stellar. I know, I know...protocol, rules, etc etc. All I know is I wanted to bust into that cabinet and bathe myself in the narcotic wonders that were locked behind those doors. It was all I could do not to throw myself onto it and scream like Moses, "Let my people go!!"
Talking to my wife and mother afterwards, the time that elapsed between the order being written and actually receiving the drugs was pretty short. Didn't feel that way. By this point I was like Rush Limbaugh searching for his lost bottle of Oxycontin...bloated, sweaty and moaning. It wasn't too long after this the doorway to my room was enveloped in a fine mist, I heard trumpets and my retinas were seared by a blinding golden light. And floating through the mist, two feet off the ground was a being wrapped in flowing robes and with giant eagles wings that flittered with the delicate grace of a butterfly. At least that's how I pictured the nurse once I realized she had arrived with my meds.
I don't remember what the meds were called and it doesn't matter, because in about an hour, I was going to get something much, MUCH better. But I'll talk about that when we come to it. In the meanwhile, these drugs did just what they said they were gonna do...I stopped hurting and I stopped throwing up. I could finally relax a bit. I don't think I had been able to sit still for at least three hours and it felt good to be able to stop thrashing around. The little beast inside that was gnawing through my organs was pacified finally.
Now where was everyone? All the administrative, nursing and physician staff wanted to do while I was wretching and begging for my life was ask me questions. Now I'm feeling good and ready to spill my life story along with all the government secrets I know and everyone has disappeared. That's okay though, I welcomed the break in the activity. The TV was on, Maureen , Mom and Bill are making small talk and I'm enjoying simply not dying. Like I said, stones are likened to giving birth. And I start thinking about all the women who give birth naturally with no medication of any kind. And then I think how stupid those women are. Who would put themselves through this kind of pain on purpose when there are wonderful, wonderful things that can take that pain away? I mean, there's no prize for being tough, you know what I'm saying? Your kid isn't any less likely to turn out to be the next Charles Manson just because you chose to forego the epidural. But I digress.
Soon they whisk me away to take a CT scan of my abdomen. That's goes smoothly and I'm back in my room in no time. After a little while the medicine begins to wear off and the dull ache in my side begins to return. Just as I'm again considering breaking into the medicine cabinet, as if on cue, PA Peregoy comes back in to see how I'm doing. I tell him the pain is starting to creep back in and he says he's not surprised. He just viewed my scan and I definitely have a stone, about 2mm big. 2mm??? That's all???? Apparently that's on the smaller side; people usually have them from 2mm all the way on up to having to use dynamite to blast them out of the kidney. He says he's going to give me something stronger for the pain and then send someone in to get an X-ray, so if I have to come back they can track the progress the stone is making through my urinary tract.
The nurse returns and injects something called Dilaudid into my IV. Now, I've heard that folks in the medical biz call Dilaudid "street heroin" because it's so powerful. I call it "Ambrosia of Unicorn Tears Dusted with Angel Laughter with Droplets From the Breath of Baby Bunnies Strained Through the Hair of Forest Nymphs." In less than a minute of the needle reaching my IV, my body feels like my blood has turned to lead and my head flops back like I have a spring in my neck. The nurse asks if I'm feeling a bit woozy. I replied some sort of affirmation..not sure what language I spoke it in though. Probably one I learned from the creatures I was now communing with from the Realm of the Opiate Fairies.
They sent an X-ray tech directly to my room with a portable X-ray machine. Pretty cool..I didn't know they could do that! Of course they could've sent in a sno-cone machine at that point, I didn't care..I was pretty much cool with everything at that point. The X-ray went smooth and without incident.
Now righteously medicated and with the problem diagnosed, the process began to get me out of there and back home. Saint Peregoy returned and told me he was going to give me prescriptions for three things: Flomax- they give to to guys with prostate trouble, but it's also great for stones as it widens the urethra allowing the stone to pass more easily. Then Phenegren for nausea and next the motherload...Dilaudid in pill form! Hell yeah. I must've asked him three times if it was going to be enough. All I could think about was the misery I had experienced hours earlier and I was gonna be damned if I was going to do THAT again. It was impossible to tell when exactly I would pass it..it could be in a few hours or a few weeks. In the worse case scenario, I wouldn't pass it and a urologist would have to manually remove it. All I wanted was enough drugs to be covered until the lil bastard left me so I didn't wind up in the condition I was in earlier in the morning. Because as you might've gathered, it was kinda unpleasant.
They also gave me what was basically a motor oil funnel with a screen on the end that I had to urinate through so I could catch the stone. So I was armed with my medicine and my urine strainer and the time had come for me to leave. I had survived. And my prognosis for continuing to be alive was good.
Again, I wish I could remember the names of the nurses that attended to me because they were awesome. I actually looked at every one of their name tags while I was there, because I was convinced I was going to die and figured one of them could be the angel of death in disguise. So I was checking the tags for the name "Grim Reaper". And I only remembered PA Ronald Peregoy's name beacause I had the bill handy with his name was on it. It's not that their names weren't worth remembering. They more than were and are, I'm just horrible with names. I had to double check my wife's name while I was writing this. I don't think she'd like being referred to as "that chick I live with that has the nice rack."
EPILOGUE:
Thankfully, I passed the stone the very next day. And thanks to the FloMax they gave me, it was absolutely painless. Have you ever seen that Seinfeld episode where Kramer has the kidney stone and passes it while he's at the circus? He screams so loud the entire big top hears him. That's what I was expecting, but I'm grateful it was much more anti-climatic than that. That also meant I didn't have to use the strainer anymore. I was glad because everytime I had to pee I felt like I should be wearing a prospector's hat.
The stone is a mean looking SOB. It was every bit of 2mm just like they said. And looking at it closely, that was more than big enough. A kidney stone basically looks like a puffer fish..big and round with spikes jutting out of it all over. Lots of times soldiers, cops and other folks who have been shot will put the slug that got them on a chain to wear around their necks as a good-luck charm so nothing like that ever happens to them again. Sort of a protective talismen. I still have my stone and should do something like that...it's kinda like a bullet, but one that tries to shoot OUT of your body rather than into it.
So, of course, having been through this ordeal I wanted to make sure it would never happen again. I read up on stones as much as I possible could. In learning what causes them I figured out why I got mine..by being a dumbass. During the weeks leading up to my stone, I had been drinking pretty much nothing but coffee all day long. I had maybe a single glass of water a day, the rest was coffee. I was also working out quite regularly. So between all that, I was pretty dehydrated. I had been complaining the previous week about feeling dried out and my bladder had actually begun to feel a bit funny. Hmmmmm....I need some coffee to flush it out! I'll be right as rain in a few days. Nope. Not even close. I deserved that stone. I forged it crystal by crystal with coffee and stupidity, just like Marley and his chain from A Christmas Carol.
Now I'm friggin Aqua Man. I drink so much water everyday now my pee could be re-bottled and sold by Poland Springs it's that clear. You could read a book through my urine stream. I've also changed my diet a bit as some of the things I liked to eat alot helped contribute to it. I've had to lower significantly my intake of such things as spinach, nuts, any type of berry juice, orange juice and chocolate. Yes chocolate. That in and of itself should be enough motivation to take care of yourself.
I mentioned earlier in the story that I had no health insurance. Not long after I passed Satan (as I've come to call the stone), the bills began to arrive. All told, that little piece of calcium deposit is costing us around $5000.
Lastly, I again want to thank the staff at Fauquier Hospital for being so great and making the worst day of my life just a bit more pleasant. And a big thank you to my Mom for getting me to the hospital when I needed it most...well, eventually, after she figured out how to adjust the seat in my truck. And of course, my wife Maureen for falling all over herself taking care of me when we got home.
Recently I read where someone described that having been through a stone, it's like you're now in a special club that people who have never had one can't truly understand. Now being a member of that special club I tell the rest of you it's a club you NEVER want to be a member of. So in closing, drink LOTS of water. In case you missed it, I'll say it again...drink LOTS OF WATER. And if you're one of the unlucky people who do get one, remember to bring a change of socks with you to the hospital.
I receive the standard open back gown to adorn myself with which I don't even bother tying. No way in hell I can navigate performing Boy Scout knot tying techniques behind my back in this condition.
About this time Maureen shows up, followed shortly by my step-father Bill. Maureen looks terrible. Poor thing! I find out she practically had a nervous breakdown on the way over. For one, I'm Mr. Healthy and it completely freaked her out that I'm suddenly being rushed to the hospital. She's seen me in a doctor's office maybe twice the entire time we've been together. And, on the more pracitcal side, thanks to the wonderful tanking economy I am unemployed and therefore without any sort of health insurance. And did I mention we have a baby on the way? So she's having visions of her new husband and father-to-be to her kid dying on the operating table in the middle of some major catastrophic surgery and the mailbox full of ridiculously large doctor bills. But by the time she got to the hospital she was calmed down and was actually relieved at the prospect of a kidney stone.
Another nurse comes in and asks, "On a scale of one to ten..." before she even finishes I blurt out "TEN!!" She writes some more notes in my chart. I get sent to pee in a cup and a nurse practioner in training is waiting for me when I come back. She's doing the preliminary check. And another nurse is getting me hooked up to an IV. At this point I've seen quite a few people but nobody with any drugs. I'm tired of answering questions and want some relief dammit!! I'm actually starting to feel a bit better. I still can't lay completely still because of pain, but I feel a tad more relaxed. I guess it was the psychological effect of finally being in the hospital to get some treatment.
So now the room is full of people: Maureen, my Mom, Bill, a regular rotation of nurses and the billing lady who keeps popping in and out to get Maureen to fill out paperwork for the all important billing process. And I'm feeling kinda all warm and fuzzy inside, seeing everyone's genuine concern for my well-being. Oh wait....no, everyone OUT!! I feel "that" feeling in my throat again. I'm gonna get sick. Really sick. And my concern isn't that I don't want people watching me barf because I'm vain, I'm just worried I'm gonna set off a domino effect of sympathy barfing. I mean, the room is at capacity and it would just be a horrible, horrible scene if that happened, you know? Funny, but horrible. I sit straight up and Maureen notices right away,"You gonna be sick?". I nod and instantly she thoughfully shuts the curtain between me and the rest of the world. I grab my trusty Target barf bag. (On a side note, if anyone from Target is reading this, you could make a killing selling Target barf bags with the Target bullseye logo at the bottom of the bag. Consider it.) I let loose, so violently I miss the bag. And it's also about this time that I realize I had never taken my socks off, as my left sock is now soaked.
You realize the professionalism of these nurses as this is going on. They buzz around, doing their nursely things totally oblivious to the carnage happening a mere two feet away from them. I doubt I could perform my job so stoicly while someone was blowing chunks all over MY workplace. Bravo ladies, bravo. One casually hands me a brand new barf bag (an official hospital issue one..looks like a big blue condom) as Maureen bravely throws my old one away. I was kinda sad to see it go..we had been through alot together. My Mom starts giving me wet paper towels for me to attempt to clean myself up. Two barf bags later the intestinal seige stops and I collapse back onto the bed.
About this time, the official PA shows up with the trainee I saw earlier in tow. Big smiles from them and a "How are you feeling?" I appreciate the question, but really, a picture is worth a thousand words: I'm laying there, dried vomit on my chin, on my gown and all over my sock (and btw, how about letting a guy have a nice new gown to change into?). Ronald Peregoy, hell of a nice guy with awesome bedside manner. If I had a terminal disease I'd want him to break the news. With his warm smile, calm demeanor and a slap on the shoulder he'd make you feel a-okay with only having two weeks left to live....even make you feel guilty for stretching it out that long. I wish I could remember the nurses names and the NP in training as well, because they were all awesome. But my first reaction at the sight of this man is "Finally, the man with the DRUGS!". But instead of injecting me with something wonderful, he starts the same series of questions I've already answered. Yep, pain still a ten, still vomiting, still dying.
He sits down and tells me that there was alot of blood in the urine sample I gave, which is normal for a stone. Shards of flaming glass coated in pure evil ripping through your inside will do that (my words, not his). And based on my other symptoms, he's certain it was a stone. He set me up with a CT scan and said he was going to put in an order for pain and nausuea meds (Hallelujah). He said it was a specific type of pain med especially helpful with stones, so if it works that would further solidify the kidney stone diagnosis. And while I was happy that the ball was finally rolling on the drugs, I couldn't help but wonder why he couldn't just inject me right there and THEN write the order? The cabinet with the good stuff was right next to the bed and obviously I feel less than stellar. I know, I know...protocol, rules, etc etc. All I know is I wanted to bust into that cabinet and bathe myself in the narcotic wonders that were locked behind those doors. It was all I could do not to throw myself onto it and scream like Moses, "Let my people go!!"
Talking to my wife and mother afterwards, the time that elapsed between the order being written and actually receiving the drugs was pretty short. Didn't feel that way. By this point I was like Rush Limbaugh searching for his lost bottle of Oxycontin...bloated, sweaty and moaning. It wasn't too long after this the doorway to my room was enveloped in a fine mist, I heard trumpets and my retinas were seared by a blinding golden light. And floating through the mist, two feet off the ground was a being wrapped in flowing robes and with giant eagles wings that flittered with the delicate grace of a butterfly. At least that's how I pictured the nurse once I realized she had arrived with my meds.
I don't remember what the meds were called and it doesn't matter, because in about an hour, I was going to get something much, MUCH better. But I'll talk about that when we come to it. In the meanwhile, these drugs did just what they said they were gonna do...I stopped hurting and I stopped throwing up. I could finally relax a bit. I don't think I had been able to sit still for at least three hours and it felt good to be able to stop thrashing around. The little beast inside that was gnawing through my organs was pacified finally.
Now where was everyone? All the administrative, nursing and physician staff wanted to do while I was wretching and begging for my life was ask me questions. Now I'm feeling good and ready to spill my life story along with all the government secrets I know and everyone has disappeared. That's okay though, I welcomed the break in the activity. The TV was on, Maureen , Mom and Bill are making small talk and I'm enjoying simply not dying. Like I said, stones are likened to giving birth. And I start thinking about all the women who give birth naturally with no medication of any kind. And then I think how stupid those women are. Who would put themselves through this kind of pain on purpose when there are wonderful, wonderful things that can take that pain away? I mean, there's no prize for being tough, you know what I'm saying? Your kid isn't any less likely to turn out to be the next Charles Manson just because you chose to forego the epidural. But I digress.
Soon they whisk me away to take a CT scan of my abdomen. That's goes smoothly and I'm back in my room in no time. After a little while the medicine begins to wear off and the dull ache in my side begins to return. Just as I'm again considering breaking into the medicine cabinet, as if on cue, PA Peregoy comes back in to see how I'm doing. I tell him the pain is starting to creep back in and he says he's not surprised. He just viewed my scan and I definitely have a stone, about 2mm big. 2mm??? That's all???? Apparently that's on the smaller side; people usually have them from 2mm all the way on up to having to use dynamite to blast them out of the kidney. He says he's going to give me something stronger for the pain and then send someone in to get an X-ray, so if I have to come back they can track the progress the stone is making through my urinary tract.
The nurse returns and injects something called Dilaudid into my IV. Now, I've heard that folks in the medical biz call Dilaudid "street heroin" because it's so powerful. I call it "Ambrosia of Unicorn Tears Dusted with Angel Laughter with Droplets From the Breath of Baby Bunnies Strained Through the Hair of Forest Nymphs." In less than a minute of the needle reaching my IV, my body feels like my blood has turned to lead and my head flops back like I have a spring in my neck. The nurse asks if I'm feeling a bit woozy. I replied some sort of affirmation..not sure what language I spoke it in though. Probably one I learned from the creatures I was now communing with from the Realm of the Opiate Fairies.
They sent an X-ray tech directly to my room with a portable X-ray machine. Pretty cool..I didn't know they could do that! Of course they could've sent in a sno-cone machine at that point, I didn't care..I was pretty much cool with everything at that point. The X-ray went smooth and without incident.
Now righteously medicated and with the problem diagnosed, the process began to get me out of there and back home. Saint Peregoy returned and told me he was going to give me prescriptions for three things: Flomax- they give to to guys with prostate trouble, but it's also great for stones as it widens the urethra allowing the stone to pass more easily. Then Phenegren for nausea and next the motherload...Dilaudid in pill form! Hell yeah. I must've asked him three times if it was going to be enough. All I could think about was the misery I had experienced hours earlier and I was gonna be damned if I was going to do THAT again. It was impossible to tell when exactly I would pass it..it could be in a few hours or a few weeks. In the worse case scenario, I wouldn't pass it and a urologist would have to manually remove it. All I wanted was enough drugs to be covered until the lil bastard left me so I didn't wind up in the condition I was in earlier in the morning. Because as you might've gathered, it was kinda unpleasant.
They also gave me what was basically a motor oil funnel with a screen on the end that I had to urinate through so I could catch the stone. So I was armed with my medicine and my urine strainer and the time had come for me to leave. I had survived. And my prognosis for continuing to be alive was good.
Again, I wish I could remember the names of the nurses that attended to me because they were awesome. I actually looked at every one of their name tags while I was there, because I was convinced I was going to die and figured one of them could be the angel of death in disguise. So I was checking the tags for the name "Grim Reaper". And I only remembered PA Ronald Peregoy's name beacause I had the bill handy with his name was on it. It's not that their names weren't worth remembering. They more than were and are, I'm just horrible with names. I had to double check my wife's name while I was writing this. I don't think she'd like being referred to as "that chick I live with that has the nice rack."
EPILOGUE:
Thankfully, I passed the stone the very next day. And thanks to the FloMax they gave me, it was absolutely painless. Have you ever seen that Seinfeld episode where Kramer has the kidney stone and passes it while he's at the circus? He screams so loud the entire big top hears him. That's what I was expecting, but I'm grateful it was much more anti-climatic than that. That also meant I didn't have to use the strainer anymore. I was glad because everytime I had to pee I felt like I should be wearing a prospector's hat.
The stone is a mean looking SOB. It was every bit of 2mm just like they said. And looking at it closely, that was more than big enough. A kidney stone basically looks like a puffer fish..big and round with spikes jutting out of it all over. Lots of times soldiers, cops and other folks who have been shot will put the slug that got them on a chain to wear around their necks as a good-luck charm so nothing like that ever happens to them again. Sort of a protective talismen. I still have my stone and should do something like that...it's kinda like a bullet, but one that tries to shoot OUT of your body rather than into it.
So, of course, having been through this ordeal I wanted to make sure it would never happen again. I read up on stones as much as I possible could. In learning what causes them I figured out why I got mine..by being a dumbass. During the weeks leading up to my stone, I had been drinking pretty much nothing but coffee all day long. I had maybe a single glass of water a day, the rest was coffee. I was also working out quite regularly. So between all that, I was pretty dehydrated. I had been complaining the previous week about feeling dried out and my bladder had actually begun to feel a bit funny. Hmmmmm....I need some coffee to flush it out! I'll be right as rain in a few days. Nope. Not even close. I deserved that stone. I forged it crystal by crystal with coffee and stupidity, just like Marley and his chain from A Christmas Carol.
Now I'm friggin Aqua Man. I drink so much water everyday now my pee could be re-bottled and sold by Poland Springs it's that clear. You could read a book through my urine stream. I've also changed my diet a bit as some of the things I liked to eat alot helped contribute to it. I've had to lower significantly my intake of such things as spinach, nuts, any type of berry juice, orange juice and chocolate. Yes chocolate. That in and of itself should be enough motivation to take care of yourself.
I mentioned earlier in the story that I had no health insurance. Not long after I passed Satan (as I've come to call the stone), the bills began to arrive. All told, that little piece of calcium deposit is costing us around $5000.
Lastly, I again want to thank the staff at Fauquier Hospital for being so great and making the worst day of my life just a bit more pleasant. And a big thank you to my Mom for getting me to the hospital when I needed it most...well, eventually, after she figured out how to adjust the seat in my truck. And of course, my wife Maureen for falling all over herself taking care of me when we got home.
Recently I read where someone described that having been through a stone, it's like you're now in a special club that people who have never had one can't truly understand. Now being a member of that special club I tell the rest of you it's a club you NEVER want to be a member of. So in closing, drink LOTS of water. In case you missed it, I'll say it again...drink LOTS OF WATER. And if you're one of the unlucky people who do get one, remember to bring a change of socks with you to the hospital.
Journey of a Kidney Stone- Part I
I've often heard that a kidney stone is like giving birth. But I've also heard women who have given birth say that they'd rather do that again than ever have another stone.
I recently had my first kidney stone experience and it's one I'm not planning on repeating......ever. The pain cannot be described. I've pulled muscles, broken bones, been stung by bees, bitten by animals, been punched, been cut by a knife, hit my funny bone and been kicked in the testicles. I have alot of tattoos. And yeah, they hurt getting them. But tattoo pain by comparison runs the gamut of a sting, pretty uncomfortable to just annoying. A kidney stone will make you it's bitch. It's crying, begging, wanna-put-bamboo-shutes-under-my-fingernails-to-take-my-mind-off-the-pain bitch.
My tale begins on the morning of Feb.25 2009. It was a typical morning; I saw my wife Maureen off to work and just finished up a breakfast of oatmeal and coffee. Headed off to the bathroom to conduct my morning business. And that's when it happened, the sharp, unyielding radiating ache in my right side, from my ribcage to my hip. Front to back as well.
"Hmmm, that's curious, I'll just walk it off" I thought to myself. (Well, I'm not sure what I exactly thought. Honestly it was probably more like, "Holy ******* ****, this hurts!!"). I had worked out pretty hard the day before and thought I had pulled something. But as I continued to "walk it off", all I succeeded in doing was skyrocketing my heartrate and breaking out in a cold sweat. Before I knew it my walk had turned into a mild jog as it was too painful to be still.
So I did what any husband who's in pain who do..I called to whine to my wife. Now, I NEVER complain about pain. I might make a mention of it once in awhile, but I've always just dealt with it and have never used it as a tool to get attention. So when I called her to get some attention for my pain, she knew I was seriously hurting. I needed her to tell me what the hell what going on. She works in at a dermatologist office, but I didn't care...there were freakin' MD's in that building and somebody had to know SOMETHING. My wife is infinitely smarter than I am and I figured between her and the doctors they could figure out what was wrong with me. She was just getting to work so she said she'd call me right back when she got into the office.
In the interim I turned to the other place people go to get answers, the internet. I pulled up the almighty Google and put in "Right Side Pain". The first site I opened up had a chart with various symptoms and possible diagnosises like Appendicitis, Gall Stones, Pancreatitis and other lovely afflictions. Bottom line, the recommended course of treatment for them all was pretty much "get off the internet you schmuck and get to the ER right NOW." Great. Even if I wanted to read more I couldn't as the waves of pain made it impossible to sit in front of the computer any longer and I was practically flipping somersaults in agony as it was.
Meanwhile my cold-sweating continues, soaking me and my heart is about to beat out of my chest. And then the worst thing in the world happened. I suddenly noticed the back of my throat felt funny. Hey, I think I just might...YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCKKKKK! Yep, I threw up. I hurt so bad I threw up. If there's one thing I hate in this world it's vomiting and if I even get the hint I may get sick I'll fight it with every fiber in my being. But this happened so fast I didn't even feel it coming. My body just went, " Hey man, this is gonna happen NOW."
Maureen calls me back and I whimper about getting sick. She suggests it's a pulled muscle and advises me to lay on a heating pad while she goes and tracks down one of her doctors to confer with. Okay, will do. We hang up but not before I tell her I love her because I'm pretty sure from the degree of pain I was never going to talk to her again. I'm able to lay on the heating pad for MAYBE two minutes total. The pain is compeletly unrelenting and it's hard to stay on the pad when you're rolling all over the rest of the bed like Linda Blair in The Exorcist.
At this point, I was pretty convinced I was gonna die. And I wouldn't have minded to be honest. But I knew without a doubt I had to get to a hospital. I needed drugs, surgery, a hammer to the head...anything to get the pain and, now, vomiting to cease. So I called the NEXT person in line a guy calls after his wife to cry to...his Mommy. My mom lives just up the road from me. She answers the phone with a happy, sing-songy "Hel-lo!", obviously happy that her son that she hardly ever sees even though he lives less than a mile away is finally calling her. I get right to the point, "I need you to take me to the hospital". Without hesitation she says, "Okay. I'll be right down." I've never uttered those words to anyone ever. She knew I meant it! Maureen calls back and I just say, "I'm going to the hospital". "Okay, I"ll meet you there".
My mother was down in a flash and we were in my truck getting ready to pull out to go to the hospital. The hospital was a 20 min. drive away. I was still in agony but I felt just a tad better knowing I was about to be on my way to getting this thing, whatever it was, taken care of. Okay, on the way. Any minute now. Here we go. My Mom pulls off two feet then stops,
"How do you adjust the seat?"
"It's on the side."
"Which switch?"
"The big one."
The seat goes up.
"No the other one Mom."
The seat tilts forward.
"No the other one Mom."
She finds it. Okay, here we go! Two more feet.
"How do you adjust the steering wheel?"
"It's on the steering column Mom".
The hazard lights pop on.
"No, the other side Mom".
Mercifully, she remembers she's taking her dying, melting on the inside, creature-from-ALiens-about-to-burst-out-of-his-gut son to the hospital and decides to forego the tilt switch on the steering wheel and get us on our way. And of ourse, Mom, I'm just giving you a hard time. I'm certain if you hadn't been so quick to get me on the road I would've just tried cutting out my right side with a kitchen knife to get it to stop.
The ride to the hospital seemed forever due to the pain, but like I said, I felt a bit better knowing I was on my way. I got sick twice en route, which I actually welcomed because while I was busy trying to wretch up the demon that had inhabited by body it took my mind away from the pain for a few moments. That's when I knew I was in serious pain, when I actually looked forward to puking.
Okay, hospital in sight! We pull in and within moments I'm in a wheelchair being pushed into the sweet, sweet ER. Through the doors and there's no body else in there. Sweet! We roll up to the check-in desk and as I'm awaiting the entire cast of ER, Scrubs and MASH to come out and whisk me away to the back to make me all better, the receptionist is lazily tapping away at her keyboard helping another lady that's standing there. With my trained amateur medical eye, this lady looks to be in perfect health. I'm the one sheet-white, trembling in a wheelchair clutching my plastic Target bag o'puke....some service please?
Tap-tap-tappity- tap-tap. Like she's writing a letter to her Grandma. Finally she smiles and lazily hands my mom a clipboard to put my info on. She prints something. Waiting.... world's slowest printer. Still waiting. Okay printing done. More care-free tap-tappity-tapping. Hey, I understand there's a protocol involved here and you gotta get my information. But let's just do this in reverse...just give me the friggin drugs lady and I'll tell you everything you wanna know. My dreams, hopes and aspirations, we can talk about it all. But after I'm sufficiently medicated, okay?
More tapping. As I shake, sweat and wait some more, I notice that the emergency waiting area I'm currently in has brand new carpet. Who puts carpet in an emergency waiting room? Isn't this the place where bleeding people, women squirting babies out and other folks with various oozing things are supposed to come? The guys at Stanley Steemer must make a killing. Anyway, I suddenly feel the now familiar sensation in my throat and fear that I'm about to christen the brand new carpet when finally the I.D. wristband is put on my wrist and I'm immediately taken back.
I recently had my first kidney stone experience and it's one I'm not planning on repeating......ever. The pain cannot be described. I've pulled muscles, broken bones, been stung by bees, bitten by animals, been punched, been cut by a knife, hit my funny bone and been kicked in the testicles. I have alot of tattoos. And yeah, they hurt getting them. But tattoo pain by comparison runs the gamut of a sting, pretty uncomfortable to just annoying. A kidney stone will make you it's bitch. It's crying, begging, wanna-put-bamboo-shutes-under-my-fingernails-to-take-my-mind-off-the-pain bitch.
My tale begins on the morning of Feb.25 2009. It was a typical morning; I saw my wife Maureen off to work and just finished up a breakfast of oatmeal and coffee. Headed off to the bathroom to conduct my morning business. And that's when it happened, the sharp, unyielding radiating ache in my right side, from my ribcage to my hip. Front to back as well.
"Hmmm, that's curious, I'll just walk it off" I thought to myself. (Well, I'm not sure what I exactly thought. Honestly it was probably more like, "Holy ******* ****, this hurts!!"). I had worked out pretty hard the day before and thought I had pulled something. But as I continued to "walk it off", all I succeeded in doing was skyrocketing my heartrate and breaking out in a cold sweat. Before I knew it my walk had turned into a mild jog as it was too painful to be still.
So I did what any husband who's in pain who do..I called to whine to my wife. Now, I NEVER complain about pain. I might make a mention of it once in awhile, but I've always just dealt with it and have never used it as a tool to get attention. So when I called her to get some attention for my pain, she knew I was seriously hurting. I needed her to tell me what the hell what going on. She works in at a dermatologist office, but I didn't care...there were freakin' MD's in that building and somebody had to know SOMETHING. My wife is infinitely smarter than I am and I figured between her and the doctors they could figure out what was wrong with me. She was just getting to work so she said she'd call me right back when she got into the office.
In the interim I turned to the other place people go to get answers, the internet. I pulled up the almighty Google and put in "Right Side Pain". The first site I opened up had a chart with various symptoms and possible diagnosises like Appendicitis, Gall Stones, Pancreatitis and other lovely afflictions. Bottom line, the recommended course of treatment for them all was pretty much "get off the internet you schmuck and get to the ER right NOW." Great. Even if I wanted to read more I couldn't as the waves of pain made it impossible to sit in front of the computer any longer and I was practically flipping somersaults in agony as it was.
Meanwhile my cold-sweating continues, soaking me and my heart is about to beat out of my chest. And then the worst thing in the world happened. I suddenly noticed the back of my throat felt funny. Hey, I think I just might...YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCKKKKK! Yep, I threw up. I hurt so bad I threw up. If there's one thing I hate in this world it's vomiting and if I even get the hint I may get sick I'll fight it with every fiber in my being. But this happened so fast I didn't even feel it coming. My body just went, " Hey man, this is gonna happen NOW."
Maureen calls me back and I whimper about getting sick. She suggests it's a pulled muscle and advises me to lay on a heating pad while she goes and tracks down one of her doctors to confer with. Okay, will do. We hang up but not before I tell her I love her because I'm pretty sure from the degree of pain I was never going to talk to her again. I'm able to lay on the heating pad for MAYBE two minutes total. The pain is compeletly unrelenting and it's hard to stay on the pad when you're rolling all over the rest of the bed like Linda Blair in The Exorcist.
At this point, I was pretty convinced I was gonna die. And I wouldn't have minded to be honest. But I knew without a doubt I had to get to a hospital. I needed drugs, surgery, a hammer to the head...anything to get the pain and, now, vomiting to cease. So I called the NEXT person in line a guy calls after his wife to cry to...his Mommy. My mom lives just up the road from me. She answers the phone with a happy, sing-songy "Hel-lo!", obviously happy that her son that she hardly ever sees even though he lives less than a mile away is finally calling her. I get right to the point, "I need you to take me to the hospital". Without hesitation she says, "Okay. I'll be right down." I've never uttered those words to anyone ever. She knew I meant it! Maureen calls back and I just say, "I'm going to the hospital". "Okay, I"ll meet you there".
My mother was down in a flash and we were in my truck getting ready to pull out to go to the hospital. The hospital was a 20 min. drive away. I was still in agony but I felt just a tad better knowing I was about to be on my way to getting this thing, whatever it was, taken care of. Okay, on the way. Any minute now. Here we go. My Mom pulls off two feet then stops,
"How do you adjust the seat?"
"It's on the side."
"Which switch?"
"The big one."
The seat goes up.
"No the other one Mom."
The seat tilts forward.
"No the other one Mom."
She finds it. Okay, here we go! Two more feet.
"How do you adjust the steering wheel?"
"It's on the steering column Mom".
The hazard lights pop on.
"No, the other side Mom".
Mercifully, she remembers she's taking her dying, melting on the inside, creature-from-ALiens-about-to-burst-out-of-his-gut son to the hospital and decides to forego the tilt switch on the steering wheel and get us on our way. And of ourse, Mom, I'm just giving you a hard time. I'm certain if you hadn't been so quick to get me on the road I would've just tried cutting out my right side with a kitchen knife to get it to stop.
The ride to the hospital seemed forever due to the pain, but like I said, I felt a bit better knowing I was on my way. I got sick twice en route, which I actually welcomed because while I was busy trying to wretch up the demon that had inhabited by body it took my mind away from the pain for a few moments. That's when I knew I was in serious pain, when I actually looked forward to puking.
Okay, hospital in sight! We pull in and within moments I'm in a wheelchair being pushed into the sweet, sweet ER. Through the doors and there's no body else in there. Sweet! We roll up to the check-in desk and as I'm awaiting the entire cast of ER, Scrubs and MASH to come out and whisk me away to the back to make me all better, the receptionist is lazily tapping away at her keyboard helping another lady that's standing there. With my trained amateur medical eye, this lady looks to be in perfect health. I'm the one sheet-white, trembling in a wheelchair clutching my plastic Target bag o'puke....some service please?
Tap-tap-tappity- tap-tap. Like she's writing a letter to her Grandma. Finally she smiles and lazily hands my mom a clipboard to put my info on. She prints something. Waiting.... world's slowest printer. Still waiting. Okay printing done. More care-free tap-tappity-tapping. Hey, I understand there's a protocol involved here and you gotta get my information. But let's just do this in reverse...just give me the friggin drugs lady and I'll tell you everything you wanna know. My dreams, hopes and aspirations, we can talk about it all. But after I'm sufficiently medicated, okay?
More tapping. As I shake, sweat and wait some more, I notice that the emergency waiting area I'm currently in has brand new carpet. Who puts carpet in an emergency waiting room? Isn't this the place where bleeding people, women squirting babies out and other folks with various oozing things are supposed to come? The guys at Stanley Steemer must make a killing. Anyway, I suddenly feel the now familiar sensation in my throat and fear that I'm about to christen the brand new carpet when finally the I.D. wristband is put on my wrist and I'm immediately taken back.
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