Getting Stoned

Recently I had a bout with kidney stones. I have friends who’ve had them, have heard all the stories, and was scared I’d get them. Time, and a certain lifestyle, finally caught up with me.

It was a Friday morning and I had just gotten to work when I was overcome by nausea. As I hurried to the bathroom I was growing increasingly aware of a discomfort in the right kidney area of my back. The feeling of nausea was soon overwhelmed by this pain. So intense was this pain, and so rapidly evolving that it passed the “ain’t no thang” phase, straight through the “hey, I might get to leave work early!” phase, blew past “holy #^%& this hurts!”, hit the “I want my mommy” phase with a vengeance and eventually settled into the “curl up into the fetal position and whimper like a baby” phase in the span of two minutes.

I’ve lived through a cracked skull that required stitches, a ruptured appendix, a twisted testicle, a torn ACL, a busted kneecap, dislocated fingers, a broken metatarsil, and three Justin Bieber songs on the radio and nothing comes close to the pain of this kidney stone, although Bieber was close.

I managed to struggle back to my desk whereupon I called my wife. When she answered the first words out of my mouth were, “I need a doctor.” Can you imagine? The only words more humbling to come out of a man’s mouth are “I’m lost and need directions.” After hanging up I made my excuses at work and headed home, grabbing the plastic trash can liner from my wastebasket on the way out just in case the feeling of nausea decided to manifest itself in something other than the occassional belch. Since it was still early in the day, traffic was still flowing at that “get the $@#* outta my way!” pace we all love. As such I got to experience the joy of manuvering traffic at eighty miles per hour holding the plastic trash can liner in front of me in anticipation of a bout of nausea that felt only about two seconds away. About two hours after my ordeal started I was back home, only to find the pain had subsided to a level that only made me feel like pulling my fingernails out with pliers. Within a few minutes I was back to semi-normal. On the drive home the thought occurred to me I might be dealing with a kidney stone. Up until now I had no experience with them. When I communicated my suspicions to my wife, her search for a doctor quickly shifted to finding a urologist that could see me immediately.

About an hour later I was beset with another pain episode, this one not as long lasting, but overall a bit more intense. Since this second episode was not as long, I foolishly began to hope the worst was over.

I made it to the doctor’s office without further incident, whereupon Dr. Fatfingers examined me in ways I’d rather not be examined, but that were necessary under the circumstances. He scheduled me for a CT scan the next day, and a followup appointment the following Monday. The rest of the evening, and all the next day, passed without incident, only adding to my false sense of confidence that the worst was over.

At 12:30 Sunday afternoon my wife and I had just sat down to enjoy a nice lunch of my special hickory smoked pork ribs and my wife’s homemade potato salad. After a couple of bites, the nausea, again, began plotting against me, so I pushed the plate away and decided to play it safe. At 1:30 I got another twinge in my back, and was instantly transported to the “ain’t no thang” phase, thinking I could take two hours again, if need be. Before long I once again quickly arrived at the “curl up in the fetal position and cry like a baby” phase, and even lowered myself to take the hydrocodon prescribed by the doctor. Before long my new old friend, nausea, decided to show her stuff. While examining the porcelain finish on the toilet, I noticed the water kept running periodically. In between heaves I determined the float needed adjustment, made the adjustment, tested said adjustment, then went back to heaving, feeling like I had truly accomplished something other than perfuming the bathroom with hickory smoked regurgitation. Having weathered that onslaught, I crawled back into bed, whimpering.

Just like a petulant child who felt I hadn’t paid her enough attention the first time, the nausea again returned. The good news is the water was no longer running as before, but I did notice the toilet seat was loose. Again, between heaves, I reached around and found the plastic screws had indeed worked loose, but I would need to retrieve the special tool needed to tighten them from my toolbox. With the smell of hickory smoked something still wafting ever so deliciously on the air, I decided this repair would have to wait for healthier days.

When this episode started I thought two hours, tops. Little did I know I was in for a fifteen hour joyride. A few hours in, I discovered jumping into the shower, sans clothes of course, and letting the hot water hit the troublesome kidney provided instant relief. After about ten minutes of this I would dry off, go back to bed, and sleep for about an hour until the pain once again woke me up. This shower, sleep, pain, cycle repeated itself about a dozen times before the pain decided to give me a well deserved rest. I slept from 4:30 to 7:30 Sunday morning. In this entire time I had eaten nothing since Saturday night, except for a couple of bites of, you guessed it, hickory smoked pork ribs.

Over the course of the next 36 hours there were a few more pain episodes, but nothing approaching what had already been experienced. The follow up visit with the doctor Monday morning went very well. No serious issues, other than a severe infection from the stones for which the doctor prescribed an antibiotic. I didn’t realize the severity of the infection until I did a bit of research on the ‘net and discovered the prescribed antibiotic is used to treat anthrax and “the plague”. That alone gave me bragging rights on the row of cubicles at work. It was almost worth it, but not quite.

Throughout this ordeal I was reminded of three things. The first is how incredibly devoted my wife and children are. My wife’s loving kindness and constant attention to my every need was humbling. Our children each contributed to my care during this difficult time, telling me by their actions they are young adults that can be counted on when times get tough. The second is that as a husband and father, we always struggle to do what is right for our families, even if it means fixing toilets in the middle of a college weekend worthy upchuck session. And the third is that no matter how strong we think we are as men, we cannot do it all alone. We need the love of our families, and our faith. That is why it is so important to nurture each of those relationships, so that when the chips are down, or floating in the toilet, someone is there to rub our shoulders and not only tell us that things will get better, but work to make it so.