The “Ordeal” came very suddenly one weekend and it was found that I had a large kidney stone that had to be crushed with laser called “lithotripsy”. Once that was done a stent was placed to allow the crushed stones to be passed. Since I didn’t know what kind of questions needed to be asked about stent placement, I overlooked that part and just blindly had the stent placed from the bladder to the kidney, through the ureter.
Within a day I was in agony.
I still didn’t know what to expect so I just accepted that pain would be part of the procedure. Wednesday, the day after placement of the stent, I was fine. Thursday, Friday and Saturday I was in enough pain to be taking Vicodin all day long. Since you must eat when taking the Vicodin because if you don’t you have the added side-effect of nausea, I was eating more than I could stand. Pain and eating don’t go together, in case you’ve never had the experience.
By Saturday night I was pacing, which is what I do when in agony.
By 10:30 Saturday night I was ready to throw in the towel and go to the emergency room when all of a sudden everything stopped. The pain disappeared. I was so relieved. I would be able to sleep peacefully.
It was the calm before the storm.
By 8:00 Sunday morning I realized I’d slept the whole night without incidence. I was so relieved. By 8:10 I felt pain in my left side. What could be doing this? Stones that had been blasted apart shouldn’t be bothering me with stent placement. I had called the doctor and told him of my misery and he said if it was still a problem to call and come in on Monday. Well, that was tomorrow. I didn’t know if I could wait.
By 10:00 I knew I couldn’t. The level of pain went from agony to excruciating and I wanted to just pass out. I kept pacing.
I called the doctor at 10:15 and we connected a half hour later. He told me he could do nothing and to go to the emergency room.
I didn’t collect anything but my purse with all the info on insurance in it. I made it to the door and told the man who lives here I needed to get to the emergency room. I was delirious with pain.
He finally got into the car and we backed out of the drive. It was a long agonizing trip to the E.R. that took approximately 10 minutes. It felt like 10 hours.
We burst into the E.R. in a flurry and someone brought a wheelchair. They had me on a gurney in no time pumping morphine into me. I later learned it took 12 mg. of morphine to stabilize me. After transferring me to another hospital where they could take care of my problem I was told they would only give 3 mg. of morphine a day so I knew I was in a tremendous amount of pain. Slowly, the pain subsided. The people there were wonderful and knew what they were doing. My experience with the moaning police was the only downside. When in extreme pain, I find it helps if I let out a moan. Apparently there are people who don’t think that is necessary. The nurse who put my IV in wanted no noise and told me the ‘noise’ wasn’t needed, ‘just breathe’. I hadn’t the energy to tell her how inapropriate her comment was. I just moaned.
Two very nice people transferred me to SouthWest General, a hospital I’d heard much about but had never had the pleasure of their services. Indeed, they were a better than average hospital. Excellent care, excellent staff. Everyone so friendly, so cordial, so willing to help. I especially loved Britt. An energetic 20-ish, tiny, platinum blonde and so sweet. Her mom and grandmother had worked at the hospital before her. When she wasn’t doing physician assistant work she was helping special needs kids. No time lost with her. Young and knew where she was going already.
The pain was gone, thanks to drugs. The stent had to come out. Hadn’t seen the doctor as yet. Agonized over the decision he wanted me to make to have another stent placed. Couldn’t do it. After going through so much agony with the first one, didn’t want to have another one to go wrong again.
Did what I usually do in this type of instance. I withdraw and go deep within.
I saw an old one talking to me. He picked up a stone and it turned to sand. “Nothing left”, he said. “Do nothing”.
That was my message. There was nothing left to work with. Nothing more was needed. How to tell the doctor?
He finally came in to my room and caught me in tears. “What are you feeling right now?” He pulled up a chair and spent time with me. Much needed time. The stent had come down, out of the kidney and was lodged in my ureter. That was where all the pain came from. I was literally trying to pass a stent. I was terrified of having the procedure he would do in less than an hour. “What do you want to do?” “Nothing” was my reply. “I can’t put myself through another stent. I know there will be pain without the stent. I’m in between a rock and a hard place. Anything I do won’t matter. I’m screwed either way.” He laughed. I said, “I can’t make this decision. You’ll have to make it for me. “ He said, “go with the stent.” I wanted to cry some more. I said, ‘you call it’. He said, “I’ll see you in 45 minutes.”
The operating room was a beehive of activity. Nurses and doctors and staff help everywhere. The anesthesiologist intro’d himself and made me feel comfortable. Very nice and quite capable. Finally, they came to get me. I gave myself over to the only thing I had left. Trust. I told the doctor, “I trust you.” That’s the last I remember before waking up with an oxygen mask over my face.
The nurse on my left was monitoring my recovery. When I was fully awake, she said, “the doctor pulled the stent, went in and found nothing there, so he didn’t place another stent. We’re releasing you from recovery, you can go home.”
I was incredibly relieved. “Do Nothing” came back to me, and indeed, nothing had to be done.
I wanted champagne. I wanted a banana split. I settled for a hamburger with the works.