Kidney Stones (This actually happened to me between March 10th and March 21st Year of Our Lord 2008)
It was a cold and rainy night, or not, I forget. I was projectile vomiting. The super flu found me and I was deep in it clutches. I had been trying to pass a kidney stone the size of a robin’s egg for three weeks. I did not think I could feel any worse, until 3:00 AM, when my illness turned south. That’s right, explosive diarrhea. While pressure testing the toilet seat and throwing up in the bathtub, I did not forget that I was trying to pass a kidney stone the size of golf ball. I was not comforted by this new knowledge. It was the longest night of my life. It lasted a week and that was only from 11:00 PM Sunday until 7:00 am Monday. I just lay around that day and prayed for death. The next day I went to see my Doctor. I told him about my symptoms and he ordered some tests. Somewhere between a chuckle and a chortle he informed me I had blood in my urine and a bladder infection. He ordered more tests, only smiling this time (I hate him). It was not, apparently, important enough to have the tests done that day.
So the next day, Wednesday; I went to North Kansas City Hospital for a “Sonogram”. That was the point I knew I should start picking out names for the thing. The test was over as quick as it had started and the nurse sent me home. By this time I had new symptoms, a sore throat, a slight pain in my left ear, a cough, and my stone was clearly in its second trimester and the size of a gourd. On top of all of this, the only place I could find sympathy was in the dictionary (let me tell you, I checked eBay first and they were all out). So I went home to pray for sweet death. No luck, that night around 2:00 am, I jumped into the third trimester and went directly into kidney stone labor. At that point I was thinking twins. I cowboy up, pulled myself out of the fetal position and drug my dying ass to the car and drove to the hospital feeling as manly as a man could feel (in my blue Toyota Corolla, weeping, and listing to “My Humps, my humps, my humps, my humps”). Damn you Grim Reaper! I got to the ER. This angel of a nurse, “Ashley”, quickly hooked me to an I.V., and filled it with medications. She said “this is a narcotic”, squirt. “This will keep you from getting nauseous”, squirt. “And this is a narcotic”, squirt. I liked her. She came back from time to time to check on me, top me off, and never once did she make fun of me for crying. Seven hours later, I got a bed, and a room, and a new nurse “Jena”. She was so nice too. The doctor changed the pain killers from tremmmonoonnonozine to darvalravfarva-something.
Jena smiled at me and said “wow, you’re not used to narcotics, are you”?
I said “no, not yet J.” (I don’t know if you can actually use a smiley face as punctuation, but at this point what the hell, if you know what I mean).
The Urologist came into see me. He spoke in Portuguese up until the point he said he was going in through my HOO-HOO to remove a 5mm stone and put in a stent. That got my attention. I looked him in the eye and said “OK… Take it out”. He said “cool” and ran off. It is at that exact point in time that I realized the drugs were affecting my decision making process. Then my Doctor’s office called. “Mark we have the results of the sonogram”. “Looks good, we don’t see anything”. I said, “bullshit”, and right before I hung up, I politely explained I was in the hospital and scheduled for surgery. (Note to self: find a new doctor). So my IV becomes blocked. That was not as exciding as it sounds until 5 I.V.s later. I felt good except for the fever, cough, inflamed left ear and green phlegm. Due to a shift change, I got a new nurse, “Dani”. She was an angel; I then realized I had a drug problem. In retrospect, I may have made the wrong decision from a suppository to a sponge bath.
Kids, don’t do drugs.
They wheel me into surgery, I am surrounded by four or eight women (double vision), and it is time for the “HOO-HOO reveal”. I suddenly needed more drugs. They obliged. I am not sure but I think my last words were, “Move that bus”. (That is an obscure reference to Extreme Home Make Over). I woke up 2 hours later naked and ashamed, and it was only noon on Friday. They gave me a brand new, state of the art hospital bed, rolled me to my room where I started rehab. I was cut off cold.
My wife showed up. Damn it. She took me home and gave me her family’s advice on all conditions medical, “GET OVER IT”. Damn it. I got to eat for the first time since Sunday. I slept. I took vicodin (a lot of vicodin.) (Vicodin is apparently what the Alchemists use to turn men into assholes), I only mention this because I was getting hourly status reports.
I woke up on Monday, drowning, due to my upper repertory infection. I drove myself back to the hospital and spent 6 hours in the E.R. I was on antibiotics but I had a fever and not in the good way. They were very nice to me. They got me hooked up with more drugs, and then they kicked me out. I wish I could book travel to that hospital. I friggen went home to learn to live the life of a Troll.
So Thursday rolled around and I had about 4 hours that I felt human. Then I had a moment of clarity. Damn it. I remember that on Friday, I will have to go in to have the stent removed, and it occurred to me that I will be awake. OH MY GOD.
So now I was stressing, all the way into room 2. This beautiful, blond-haired, blue-eyed, 27 year-old nurse took me back to room 2. She told me to take off my pants. I had reservations because by this time I had been thinking too much about how gracious she was. Which caused me to have two problems, both HOO-HOO related. I was thinking of road kill and my wedding; with my hands over my eyes to counter act my physical state (it worked). I was whimpering quietly to myself thinking just how many HOO-HOOs has this women seen and what am I being compared to (this also helped), when she made this statement, “This is going to sting a little”.
What continent is the sovereign country of Understatement on? Is it near Australia? And why was their Queen a Nurse in North Kansas City, Missouri? Wow, moving on. She said “I will be right back.” I hoped she was lying. By the way, if you noticed, I recalled all the other nurses’ names but not hers. I think this was why I blocked her name out. She came back in with the Doctor and they shoved, what felt like a Rota-Rooter down my HOO-HOO. I screamed like a Mariah Carrie hitting the high note. A month later, (during the 63 seconds it actually took), the doctor found the stent, said “take a deep breath” and pulled. My screams went up an octave. He put his torture kit away and said, “Look down”. I pried my hand from my face in time to see 3 inches of the16 inch neon green tubing protruding from my HOO-HOO. “Take a deep breath”. He grabbed it and pulled like he is starting a lawn mower that needed maintenance. Only Dogs could hear that scream. After that, he wanted to talk, but suddenly I HAD TO USE the restroom. Again he was speaking Portuguese until he got to the technical term of “the piss-willies” which would haunt me for 24-48 hours. Let me just conclude the story here, I have to go to therapy. HOO-HOOs should not dispense Tabasco sauce.
Mark Carrel
P.S. Can you die of shame?
