My Real Life

I wish this post had to do with me actually being like a rolling stone.

You know…

Gathering no moss.

Or having the moves like Mick Jagger.

Alas, this post is not about either of those things.

Instead it’s about me and my new friend.

Some people call it Sharon.

Some people call it Fred.

Some call it Kid Rock.

I believe someone even called it Blarney.

I just called it a pain in the butt.

Okay, not in the butt…but definitely in the kidney.

Yes, that’s right.

This is a blog post about me and my kidney stone.

Disclaimer: This is NOT a love story.

Disclaimer #2: It’s also a story about me and pee, so read at your own peril.

One fine day, in the end of May, I was reading to Tiny before bedtime and I had a small ache in my lower back.

I kept shifting positions, thinking it was a muscle ache, but after twenty minutes, I realized two things:

1. Shifting positions wasn’t going to make it go away
2. Whatever was going on was the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life (and long-time readers, here is where I remind you of the c-section I had with no anesthesia)

So, Real Man took me to the ER, a CT scan ensued, and turned out it was a kidney stone.

They sent me home with a sieve to pee in so I could catch the stone, and said it was almost through the ureter and that it shouldn’t be long now.

The doctors at the ER told me that when the stone passed, I should make an appointment with the urologist to have the stone analyzed to find out what I needed to cut from my diet. So, I figured it would pass soon, then I’d make the appointment, and everything would be fine.

I was back to school the next day and all was well until the following Tuesday. I happened to be in a meeting at 2:00 and the pain began and I said “Sorry everyone, but I need to go,” got up, and got home when the worst of it began. Took the medicine and let it dull the pain and put me to sleep.

I was semi-excited because I thought, “This is it! It’s passing out! It will pass today and all will be well!”

Except it didn’t.

The next week or so, I woke up at 4 am with the intense pain. I called out of work and took the medicine and waited at every bathroom break to see that little stone.

Nope.

My nerves started to set in, because I run the 8th grade trip to Washington, DC (which I wrote about in this anthology) and all I could think about was, ‘what if I have one of these days in DC?’

But, thank goodness, I didn’t.

Then we had 8th grade graduation, and I was able to run that without an attack, as well.

At this point, it seemed the stone had passed and I had just missed it. I felt okay…a little bit like I had a constant, mild, urinary tract infection on most days, but it was manageable.

But the next morning, I woke up and the pain was back and it was severe enough that I had Real Man take me to the ER, once again. But this time, there was a super fun bonus of vomiting every twenty minutes.

Kidney stones…they’re a blast.

I’d like to take a moment here and insert a love letter (which I know I said this post wasn’t, but this is a love letter to nurses.

Dear Nurses, You rock my world. 

Over the past two months, you have made me comfortable, less scared, been attentive and kind, and are just wonderful, amazing people. 

I have heard you deal calmly and rationally with irrational people in rooms around mine in the ER. 

I have heard you see through the nonsense of someone who was clearly just trying to get you to give them pain meds in the room across from mine in the ER and let them down gently. 

I’ve watched you clean up everything you can imagine, while telling patients that it’s okay, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about, and helping them maintain their dignity in their least dignified moments. 

Nurses are the absolute best, and while I’ve always known this, I have to say that this experience was a wonderful reminder of that, and I couldn’t be prouder that it is the calling that Monkey Girl has chosen to follow. 

So, Nurses…thank you.

I should mention that this was also the day of Monkey Girl’s high school graduation, because of course it was.

The ER did another CT scan and when they came to give me the results, I said, “It’s gotta be another stone, right?” because after a full month of this, I assumed that I probably had passed the first stone and missed it and had been creating and passing others in the meantime.

So, imagine my surprise when the doctor told me that the initial stone hadn’t moved at all.

Not one iota in a month.

They wanted to admit me, but a) there was no way I was missing Monkey Girl’s high school graduation that night and b) the urologist couldn’t do the surgery for awhile anyway.

So, Real Man took my medicated self home and to graduation and I got to watch that amazing girl graduate.

And then went home and went to bed for two days.

I followed up with my urologist, and at that appointment, he asked why I hadn’t come in earlier. I told him that the ER docs had initially said to make the appointment when the stone passed. He said that sometimes that is the way to go, but because the stone was larger than they thought, that is probably why I received that inaccurate advice.

He drew me some charts and said that the stone had originally been mismeasured at 4 mm, but was really 5-6 mm (which is nothing…I’ve read stories of much bigger stones…but a ureter is only 3-4 mm wide) and that, in the past month, the stone hadn’t moved one bit. Not at all.

It shifted, occasionally, and when it shifted and totally closed off the path through the ureter, that’s when I had the ridiculous pain. The general discomfort I felt the rest of the time was because it shifted again and was letting a small bit of urine pass. But in terms of movement, it hadn’t gone anywhere.

And, of course, now it had been in that position, irritating the ureter, for month, and the ureter had swelled around it, keeping it in that position. It had to come out. The danger is, apparently, that when your kidney sends urine to your bladder, when it can’t pass, a few things can happen. One is sepsis, which is, obviously, not fantastic.

The other is that your kidney gets signals that there is nowhere to go and over time, it stops producing urine, and that is irreversible. Not optimal.

So keeping the stone in and crossing our fingers wasn’t going to work.

So, we scheduled the surgery.

As I write this, the surgery was yesterday. All went well. They went in, found the stone, broke it into pieces, pulled them out, and put in a stent that runs from my kidney down through my ureter into my bladder, and that stays in for a week.

The stent is no joke, folks. Next week can’t come fast enough for me.

But the stone is out and this, too, shall pass, and when the urologist tells me what I need to avoid in my diet so this doesn’t happen again, you can be sure that I steer as clear of whatever it is as possible until my dying day.

(It’s salt…I know it’s gonna be salt…I love my salt)

I write this post as a warning to anyone that gets a kidney stone.

Follow up and make an appointment with your urologist THE NEXT DAY.

Earlier and they might have been able to blast up the pieces of the stone with shock waves and then I could have passed the pieces and not had to have gone through the surgery.

I’ll be fine. I’ve got my family (Real Man has been a rock star through all of this), my books, and my Netflix while I heal, but a lot of time, pain, and misery could have been avoided if I had just made that appointment immediately, and that’s why I share this with you.

Make those doctor appointments, for whatever ails you. Demand to be seen. Don’t think you are being dramatic or that you don’t want to bother anyone or that it will just go away on its own. Because, most likely, it won’t.

Take care of you.

You’re worth it.