This morning around five I wasn’t feeling so hot in the abdominal region. By around eight thirty I was pretty sure I was familiar with this growing painful sensation. Back in 1999, I was treated to the wonder and magic of a kidney stone.
That time I was literally in tears, doubled over in pain. Ninety percent of the time they can tell right away from a urine sample what the problem is, but I was one of the lucky ten percent that they couldn’t, and until they could positively ID the problem, they couldn’t give me painkillers.
This time the pain was bad — Becky said I turned the same ash-gray color — but not quite as bad. Still, on a scale of 1 to 10, it was hitting 8 pretty regularly. This time I lucked out — a history of kidney stones plus the urine sample plus the cat scan gave me away, and I got some sweet sweet morphine a lot faster.
I’m now back at home with some Percoset. All things must pass, they say, but so far this thing hasn’t. Still, the doctor was confident from the scan that it was pretty small and should take care of itself pretty soon. I’m not nearly in as much pain now, even without the meds, so it’s possible it’s moved into the bladder already.
They say that women who have had both babies and kidney stones say the pain of the latter rivals that of the former*. I don’t know if that’s true, but I do know that I’ve been through it twice, both times the pain was horrendous, and both times I was only dealing with a single, small stone. I can’t imagine having to handle a larger one.
It all seems to be under control now, if not completely resolved. It’s my most fervent hope that nobody reading this ever has to go through it once, much less twice.
* — On the other hand, you don’t have to put the stone through college, so there’s that.