Ode to a Kidney Stone

I had been feeling weird throughout Friday, and decided to go to bed early because of it. However, little did I know as I sank into sleep, that in a few short hours (3:30 a.m. to be exact) I would be awakened by a monumental pain not unlike a power drill being held to my innards.

I have never thrown up because of pain, but someone let loose the hounds that night. There was no decorum left as I writhed on the bathroom floor wondering what sort of devilry had sunk it’s claws into me. It was so much worse than that time when I fell on the center bar of my brother’s 10-speed bike. And it was WAY worse than the time my uncle mowed over my legs on an old fashioned runner-sled. Even worse than the time I flew off my bike and skidded 15 feet down the gravel road on my face. Yes, until now…those had been the pinnacle moments of pain. But no more. Now I had The Stone to contend with, though I didn’t know it yet. There on the floor in the bathroom I merely thought I was dying by being pulled through a razor-lined knothole backwards.

This, of course, had to happen during the first major snowstorm of the year! So my darling hubby rushed me (i.e. drove at a moderately safe speed, which was slower than if I had a snap craving for rhubarb and decided to mosey to the store on a sunny day) in the wee hours of the morning, trying to keep calm while his wife was a shrieking banshee of agony and weeping in the passenger seat. I tried my best to sink into a meditative state. I rolled the window down part way to hear the slushing sound of snow and ice, but my mind was a blur. Instead of a calming sussuration of thoughts, it was screaming “ICESNOWPAINOWICESNOWSLUSHOWOWOWOWWWWICESNOWDRIVEFASSSSSSSTEROWWWWWWWWW”. So tranquil.

I, of course, then had to endure the “Checking In” procedure at the emergency desk. Sure. Hand me a bunch of papers to sign when my body has literally formed a figure-8 from the wretched muscle tensing and desperate futile quest for relief. I could barely uncurl my fingers from the Fists of Agony in order to sign my name…which I am pretty sure came out as “AimeeOUCHOUCHOUCH”. I managed to choke on a laugh when she handed me the urine sample cup. But of course, I had to be a good cowboy and buck up for the cause. So I did, with much sobbing, yelping, and wishing sweet unconciousness would visit me…with a bottle of whiskey and a hammer.
Fortunately, once I got on a gurney the Angel of Mercy arrived in pale blue Crocs. She propped my arm up, thwapped a vein, and had the IV in like she’d just broke the record at the county cow roping contest. Considering I hate needles and going to the doctor, the fact that I had my arm out there like a willing heroin junkie should tell you something. GIVE ME THE BIG GAUGE NEEDLE!! Pump that sweet sunshine IN, NOWWWW!!!!!

I remember hearing something about narcotics and lightheadedness, but ohhhhhhhhh sweet jam, it was bliss. In the blink of an eye, a woosh of tingly, numbing delight flew through my circulatory system and banished the pain away like that old lady in the Clapper commercials. I melted like butter onto the gurney, and proclaimed undying love for Nurse Wonderful. She smiled, and smooshwalked her Crocs out of the room while I giggled and hubby rubbed my feet. After two solid hours of the most excruciating, frightening, unrelenting pain I could ever imagine… to have it suddenly and swiftly lifted from me was life altering. I could practically see into the future. Everything was golden and good, and I wanted to run around and give everyone in the ER hugs and cupcakes. Of course, exactly 25 minutes later it wore off and I was ready to dropkick fluffy bunnies if that’s what it took to score more drugs. (Public Service Announcement: No fluffy bunnies were harmed in the making of this post, or in the banishing of my kidney stone! I love them, and cuddle them, and wish them all rapturous lives in fields of fresh clover.)

So that is how Aimee was introduced to her first ever CT scan. First ever IV! First ever official hospital gown. Egad. Those are hideous drapes of mortification and humiliation aren’t they? AND – the BEST moment ever – the hospital is undergoing construction on a new wing. That means the CT Scanner was outside in the cold and snow, in a glorified medical trailer park. So my aching, drug-dizzy self was pushed in a wheelchair, hospital gown flapping in ALL the wrong places, out into the snowstorm, down a bumpy parking lot driveway, onto a lift where the whole parking lot could get a glimpse of the fabulousness of my 3:00 a.m. hairdo (which looked quite like I was breakdancing on my head, on a burlap carpet). HELLO, WORLD! BUY MY ART! WEE!

Ultimately, after many refills on the IV, and reassurances by the doctors that I did NOT want to have this stone removed physically by them…. I was sent to continue this whole lovely process in the privacy of my own home. Which I did. And hence, the shockingly tiny ‘Gomer’ was born into the world, promptly greeted by my tongue sticking out at it. Rudely. And deservedly. TAKE THAT, ugly jabby thingy. Your reign of terror is OVER! Clap off!