The story begins on January 31. I
had spent over an hour shoveling snow and noticed an ache in my back. The pain got
progressively worse and moved from the base of my spine, my backaches’ usual neighborhood
hangout, to my lower right.
It increased through the night
making sleep impossible and by 7am was so agonizing it began forcing me to
vomit. Force is the only word to use. The pain causes your abdominal muscles to
spasm and clench violently, bringing nuances of meaning to the words gut wrenching.
As it was the weekend I tried to
tough it out in hopes things would improve and I could visit my regular doc.
After three more hours of suffering and heaving I headed to my local Urgent
Care. I will try to be uncharacteristically brief here summing up the five
hours I spent being treated. After urinalysis, blood work, and a CT scan the
results were announced.
The doc informed me I had an
unwanted visitor in the form of a 5mm (size does matter, more on that momentarily) kidney stone. The scan
showed it sitting at the end of my ureter, a thin tube connecting the kidney and
bladder. Its location was the “Good News” as he put it (alarming implication
there was “Bad News” to follow duly noted) because the excruciating pain occurs
as the stone travels from kidney to bladder. Once in the bladder things go more
smoothly apparently.
The foreshadowed “Bad News” had to
do with the size of my stone. Stones under 5mm are deemed likely to pass on
their own you see, while larger stones usually require interventions ranging
from mildly unnerving to rather alarming.
In the belief that it is my duty
to inform as well as entertain, said interventions are:
Shockwave Lithotripsy – This is the use
of intense soundwaves to pulverize the stone/s into pieces easier to pass. Not
too alarming, it is an outpatient procedure supposedly causing minimal
discomfort and definitely involving no slicing and dicing.
Ureteroscopy & Laser Lithotripsy –A
probe is inserted through the urinary opening (!) into your bladder and onwards
into your ureter seeking out the offending stone/s and blasting it/them into
passable pieces with lasers. Often a stent gets left behind for several days. Research
indicated the stent makes you feel like peeing 24/7 and is not a joy to have
removed. I prefer probes and lasers on Star Trek, and let’s not even discuss
stents!
Percutaneous Nephrolithotomy – That
name just does not bode well, and indeed, the procedure it describes requires
surgery and one night’s hospitalization minimum. A small incision is made in
your back allowing shattering and removal of the stone/s. A temporary stent is
left in place. ‘Nuff said!
As I waited for test results my pain
disappeared. The doc said it might mean the stone had dropped into my bladder,
definitely a cause for celebration.
I was sent home, happy and
hopeful, with meds to ease the passage, meds to ease the nausea, and meds to
control the pain. I was given a urine strainer and told to use it to catch the
stone (more on this shortly) for lab analysis. There are basically four
categories of kidney stone. You need to know what kind yours is to figure the
cause, thereby facilitating lifestyle changes in an attempt to avoid ever
getting another one. Bottom line, you really
want to catch this stone.
I was also told to call a
urologist Monday morning (Is it just me or does this stuff invariably happen on
a weekend?) and get a follow-up appointment within three days. As is so often
the case, the appointment booker at the urologist’s office did not share the
urgent care doc’s sense of –well – urgency. She gave me an appointment eleven
days in the future.
What follows may contain TMI of a
personal nature as opposed to the kidney stone factoid TMI already presented
for your delectation. Consider yourself warned.
My eleven day wait to see a
specialist began pretty well. I was having no pain, but also no luck catching
my stone.
Being female, I have always found
collecting urine samples messy and difficult, often failing altogether. Trying
to get every drop of pee into a urine strainer has all these issues. And
because you have been instructed to drink a gallon of water a day there’s a lot
of pee to strain!
I was complaining about this, expressing
fear that my stone might have already eluded capture, to a nurse friend who
remarked I needed a toilet hat. It’s a clever little gizmo you place under the
toilet seat to catch your pee featuring a spout making straining a snap. Note
to self: Get a toilet hat when you see the urologist.
Eight days out I experienced
another attack. My meds helped me survive without screaming, writhing or
puking. This alerted me my stone was still on board. I went from the happy
conviction that my stone had gone into my bladder days ago to an anxiety-filled
vigilant state of wondering when the next attack was coming. I also began
anthropomorphizing my stone as a male entity due to the incredible pain it
caused, naming it Beelzebub (demon ruler of Hell), Bub for short.
Bub has given me one more major
attack since. It took my nausea meds and three percocets over a three hour
period to just manage to keep me from hurling. I was squirming in pain but at
least not screaming. People, I went through three hours of hard labor with my
firstborn and it was a breeze off the ocean on a balmy day compared to this!
I finally got to see a urologist a
few days ago. I had an x-ray to locate the wily Bub but it was inconclusive. I
was sent home with a toilet hat (yes!) and instructed to add lemon juice to my
daily gallon of water. (I am now squeezing lemons to add to my water. I
couldn’t help noticing a peculiar similarity between my juicer and my toilet
hat, right down to the handy pouring spout. The lemon juice requires straining
and being bright yellow is also making me think of … well, I don’t need to say
it do I? Ewwwww!)
I have another appointment in a few days. They
will search for Bub with other methods if I have failed to pass him. The
alternatives to facilitating Bub’s eviction will be discussed. You remember the
alternatives, right?
Armed with my toilet hat, I am
beyond determined to catch the trespassing bastard. I want to experience the
“thrill of victory” inherent in capturing my elusive prey, and avoid “the agony
of defeat” inherent in the alternatives. I yearn for the satisfaction of
imprisoning Bub in a specimen jar and knowing he is lab-bound to be ground into
powder, a fate he oh-so-richly deserves.
So here I sit, day 17 of Bub’s
siege. Kidney stones can take weeks to pass. It is an anxiety-filled waiting
game. In the interest of leaving you on an informative and upbeat note I have
composed a list.
“Top 10 Things To Do While Waiting To Pass a Kidney Stone”
#10 - Learn Russian. Read any
Dostoyevsky novel in the original. Nobody does suffering like the Russians.
#9 – “Google” kidney stones. Read
everything you can find. Believe it or not I actually left plenty out.
Contemplating the gruesome alternatives awaiting you upon failure to pass your
stone may help you endure the rites of passage.*
#8 – Learn French. Read Les
Miserables in the original. A few hundred pages devoted to misery will add perspective.
#7 – Amuse yourself with word play
(*rites of passage).
#6 – Learn quilting and make one.
#5 – Binge watch your favorite TV
comedies.
#4 – Learn Italian. Read Dante’s
Inferno in the original (best literary suggestion saved for last). You’re in
Purgatory waiting for the stone to pass and will traverse every level of Hell
when it does. Familiarize yourself with the territory.
#3 – Grab a partner and try every
position in the Kama Sutra. (This list needed one naughty suggestion.) Maybe
all the contortions and bumping and grinding will dislodge the stone.
#2 – Eat chocolate. Yes, I think
chocolate is better than sex. Chocolate has never let me down.
And drumroll please….
#1 – Think of every person you
loathe. Wish a kidney stone on them all. Chant their names like a mantra,
envisioning their suffering. I find it quite therapeutic actually.
In closing, remember… this too
shall pass.
Here's what I think: This is the quintessential example of making lemonade when life hands you lemons. All possible puns intended.
