The Water Method Man
Perhaps you remember me. I used to write on this blog.
Over Thanksgiving I was taking a short vacation. A little turkey. A little wine.
I think it was the wine that was my downfall.
(Warning: the next few paragraphs may cause you to say "ewww.")
On the Friday night after Thanksgiving I was uncomfortable. Full. Not in my stomach though. After all, this was a day after the big feast. "I'll try to sleep. It'll all be ok in the morning."
I was wrong. It wasn't ok. I was in pain. A great pain. More than I had ever experienced. I had a pain that needed immediate relief.
I consulted my health plan and since a faith healer wasn't available I called my health insurance information line. The tech consulted her database and suggested that I could be pregnant. I decided to go to a doctor.
I bravely wished my wife and child farewell. I drove myself a mile to a clinic. (Hey, I was in pain. I wasn't thinking well.) By the time I arrived I was sweating. And pacing. And bending double with the pain.
I told myself "My god, what have I done?" (Then again it could have been the Muzak. Reality was slipping from my grasp.)
I looked into the faces in front of me: the red noses, the pained glares, the watery eyes that seemed without hope. I turned from the staff and looked at the patients. I realized I was alone and vulnerable. I called my wife and uttered those oft said words, "Call Dave and beg him to bring you here. Please come soon."
Which were quickly followed by sounds rarely heard outside a Cronenberg film. My body attempted to eject my stomach through my ears. (No, seriously, that's how it looked. I think one of the kids in the waiting room muttered "28 Days Later.")
My wife arrived just as the clinic staff announced I was too far gone. She found my health insurance card and they decided I could be helped..
In no time a doctor stood over me. I held my waist in an effort to not explode. My eyes were blurry and my skin sweaty, clammy, and ghost like.
He asked what was wrong.
I couldn't speak. I attempted sign language. I stumbled across the hallway and did an impersonation of a college freshman after his first frat party. In the parlance of my youth: "I prayed to the porcelain god."
My prayers went unanswered.
The doctor observed my devotion and realized that he, a man of science -- as much science as allowed at an immediate care center -- could not help me. He told my wife I needed a higher power.
Yes, I was kicked upstairs to the higher authority.
ER
My friend Dave, strong and all powerful, his eyes glowing and hair afire loaded me into his mighty winged chariot. My wife stood upon the hood and used her radiance to light our way. We flew to the crystal spires of the ER.
I forgot to mention the immediate care center shot me with some sort of pain killer.
We followed the bluebirds into the ER waiting room. Since gravity didn't exist in that magical land they tied me to a seat with dandelion ropes. My wife went to find Dr. Carter since I reminded her that Dr. Mark Greene had died.
I turned to Dave as his hair faded and said, "Oh, I feel weird."
God spoke to me then: "Let there be pain!"
And there was pain. And it f*##$% me up.
I responded with the only option available. I collapsed.
Try that sometime in an ER. They push you to the front of the line.
There were no beds available however. I think they loaded me onto the nurses station. Someone took my glasses. Blind, in intense pain, and with a vulture pecking at my liver my memories became jumbled.
I do remember:
One nurse had an unhealthy obsession with urine. Her life depended on my filling a gallon bucket.
I learned my wife has a sadistic streak. At the moment I needed her most she punished me for all my sins. She pretended she couldn't understand simple English requests such as "Mhjdkkd. Uh, f%^$, pillow. Dubdthe. Dubdthe. Dubdthe!"
CAT Scan techs evidently are recruited from the ranks of ex porn directors -- "Hold your hands above your head. No like this. Uh, that's good. Now lift your hips. Yes, right there. Now don't move while I do this."
A doctor stood above me. (I couldn't see he was a doctor, but he had the aura of a doctor. It could have been the bright light a nurse held behind his head...) He spoke with a lilt in his voice. The manner of a man who has discovered his body displaces bath water equal to his mass.)
You have a kidney stone!
He continued, "We didn't expect that. Usually a person with a kidney stone has intense pain, sweats, paces, has strong nausea."
My wife and I said in unison, "He did at the care center." (I don't know why I spoke in the second person. I was delirious with pain.)
The doctor glowed confused, "Well, they didn't tell me. Anyway, we're going to give you something for the pain."
Give. You. Something. For. The. Pain.
The most beautiful words in English. Way above "cellar door."
The doctor leaned close and confided to my wife and I. His female patients all agreed that kidney stones hurt more than labor pains. I could see my wife was unconvinced even without my glasses
I was given a shot of heaven, a kitchen strainer, and a drug script. I was placed in the "We've solved your problem now get the hell out of the ER. We need your bed for serious patients" room.
A nurse came in and explained that the solution to my problem was to take pain meds and drink gallons of water. I was promised I would soon pass the stone. The key for me was "pain meds."
I felt great relief as the first meds entered my system. I resolved to drink gallons of water until my stone idol flushed through my system.
Flash forward four days later... My daughter is using empty water bottles to construct castles. I am cursing every drop of water I swallow. I never want to see another kitchen strainer in my life.
It's 7 a.m. on Wednesday and my stone has not appeared, but the bottom of my meds bottle had.
I am in fear of the threat of pain returning. I close my eyes as I hold the strainer. I give up another gallon of water.
And a huge stone! A stone that could cap a great pyramid. A stone that is shaped like a medieval torture device.
Ok, I admit it only looked that way under a microscope. I had done it! I had passed the stone. My first. I named it Adam.
I discovered the pain doesn't disappear when you pass the stone. For the next week my kidney felt like Ali landed a low blow.
I've learned my lesson. I'm drinking a lot more. A hell of a lot more. Sometimes I even add a finger or two of water.
