Stonewalled

I took several years of French in high school and college.  I had moved passed the proficiency level and could have become fluent.  then I moved to the South Pacific and promptly forgot it all.  The French word for hospital is l'hopital (pronounced LOH-peet-AHL).  Such a pretty word.  Spoken in the demure tone and lilt of a strong French accent, it's lovely.  Not at all indicative of my recent experience, however.

I ask you:  what's the only thing worse than passing a kidney stone?  Answer:  NOT passing one.

What's even worse than not passing a kidney stone?  When your pain meds just stop working altogether.

Long, long story short:  I only thought I passed the stone last week.  Actually, it had simply floated from my kidney into a tube that was wide enough to contain it with only low-grade pain for me.  So I spent the weekend thinking I was recovering, while the stone inched its way toward my bladder, where this tube narrows significantly.

Then it got stuck there.  And all hell broke loose.  I know the physical situation only from hindsight, all I knew in the moment is that I was falling apart.  I just broke down.  The pain meds (narcotics, people) didn't work and with each hour that passed, I got more violently ill.  We went to see my good friends at the ER in the middle of the night and after a couple of hours, they had transferred me to another hospital for admission and surgery.

This past week and a half has been full to the brim.  My cup hath runneth over with pain and with waiting.  Waiting on a stone that won't pass.  Waiting on the pain to ease ever so slightly.  Waiting on the clock to strike the next magical hour when I can take meds.  Waiting (and hoping and praying) for them to actually take effect.  Even when they won't.

Then waiting on doctors.  And nurses.  And hospital administrators.  And paperwork.  And traffic!  And stoplights.  And for rooms to open up.  And for the surgeon to arrive.  And always, always waiting for the meds.

My body feels like a wet towel that has been wrung out until it's just a lumpy, worn out mess.

There are distinct blessings in this.
**Very nice and talented doctors and nurses.  Every one of them I encountered.

**The little janitor who had to clean up my room (she barely spoke English) coming over to my bed with an enormous smile, saying, "You be better now!  Look at you color!"  She places her hands into the prayer steeple position and goes, "I pray for you.  You did not see me because you in pain.  But God help you!"  This from the woman who had to clean up all kinds of stuff after me.  I'm humbled.

**God, who is always with me.  And the Holy Spirit who has been reminding me that we have in Jesus an advocate who has suffered.  Physically, emotionally, in the most acute and painful way.

**Supervisors who have graciously let me miss so much work - who have literally booted me out of the office.

**The warm spread of the meds kicking in (finally, finally) and the pain melting away so smoothly.

**And G.  In sickness and in health, people.  Our interactions were reduced to instances such as G scrutinizing (from afar) my urine sample:  "Hmm.  Looks like it's getting cloudy again.  Hmm.  What's your pain level?  How many cc's of --- did you last take?"
I would croak out some half-formed answer and watch the diagnostic wheels turn.  With a frown and a curt nod, he would disappear for yet another of his private chats with the staff while I faded back into the darkness.
Permit me to shamelessly sound like "that girl" for one moment.  I love that guy.  So much.  He's the only one for me.  And he brought me flowers!  Not just any old thing, but a fall-colored arrangement!  With little harvest wheat touches.  These aren't the best pics, but I put the arrangement close to the bed so I could just look at them and try to find my mental happy place.

On a lighter note, due to a strict (involuntary) vomit routine and then a forced fast pre-operation, I went about 35 hours with no food.  That's approximately 4 months in B time.  Here's my private toast to myself at 3:00 a.m. today when I could have food.

It turns out that while the surgeon was doing the procedure, he took pictures.  I guess they take pictures of everything these days.  And I'm not too proud to show you mine because they look like something taken in deep space.  I guess in a way, they are.  Here's me with my mug shot.

These pics show some of the tears and damage wreaked by Mick, as well as what the stone looked like when they lasered it into bits.  Mercifully (and I mean that from the bottom of my heart), the surgeon removed the stone after he crushed it, thereby sparing me the pain of having to pass now-multiple stones after dealing with this pain for going on 2 weeks.

Now, the doctor will analyze the chemical components of the stone and in a few weeks we'll meet so he can consult me and suggest a specific diet moving forward.  I'm imagining he'll stress the need for more Tex Mex food, specifically chips and salsa.  He may also be concerned about the lack of sugar in my diet.  It might make me feel better to include a variety of cookies and cakes along with my intake of fruits and veggies.  Nothing wrong with a little healthy variety.

As you can see, I'm dedicated to a swift recovery.

Bye Bye Mick!  Bye Bye L'hopital!