Torture Time

Today has been a day I wouldn't wish on anyone . . . . I am older, wiser and so much more tired, I cannot begin to tell you.

Yesterday I had blood in my urine a couple of times and hoped it was just a period getting started. I felt a pang when going to bed but slept all night. When I got up this morning, I took a shower and by the time it was over, my back and side were getting pretty touchy. Trying to ignore it, I got dressed and climbed in the car to go and pick up Nicole. Within five minutes, I had Joseph take me back home. I did NOT feel good.

I thought it would help to lie down. Nope. In fact, made it worse. Moving seemed a little better. I began pacing. I paced and paced and paced the bedroom floor. I tried drinking water, using a heat pack and stretching. No relief.

After almost an hour of pacing and even walking up and down the street in front of the house, I began crying. Soon, I was also vomiting. Finally, after calling the doctor, Joseph told me we were going to the hospital.

I fought that decision because I knew what it would cost . . . without insurance, it would be astronomical. I knew we would be paying the bill off for months to come. But in the end, I agreed simply because I have never, ever, ever felt pain like that.

I've had four babies completely without any anesthesia.

I've had a broken rib while 8 months pregnant.

I've had several car accidents.
I've had a number of surgeries.

NONE of them compared to this. NONE. This was a pain that was so intense and so non-stop that I began hutting myself in other ways in an attempt to distract myself. I bit my hand. I pinched myself. I did whatever I could think of. On a scale of 1 to 10, this was a 42.

The trip to the hospital was the worst. We hit construction and were in bumper to bumper traffic. I hit the door, cried, shook, cried, and pleaded with traffic to move faster. We finally got to the hospital and when the admitting clerk told me I had three people in front of me, I thought I would die. I paced and paced and cried and paced and they finally got me in. My BP was 250/110 and I could barely stop moving long enough for them to take it. Thankfully, they processed me through pretty fast . . . . and then I had a horribly painful IV put into my wrist (spraying blood all over the floor in the process). But then, bless 'em, they gave me morphine. All hail morphine. Good stuff, baby. In about 2 minutes, I was floating and finally, finally, the pain stopped. I cried again, this time in relief.

They took me in for a CAT scan (which is wayyyyyyyyyy better than an MRI) and, as we had pretty much figured out, I was passing a kidney stone. By this time, it was almost to the bladder which means I was close to being done with the process. They took some blood, gave me some pain meds and finally sent me home.

I am not sure I have ever been that tired. I slept for 90 minutes and then got back up. I have spent the evening on the couch and am ready to collapse from fatigue already. I am counting the seconds until I am back in bed and this day is completely behind me.

It was a very bad, no good, rotten, awful, terrible, lousy day.

If you know anyone who has passed a kidney stone, call them and tell them how sorry you are, no matter how long ago it might have happened. I am pretty sure they will remember the event quite well--this is one kind of pain you just never forget.