The Sands of Iwo Harder

Let’s just forget the last couple of weeks and move on, shall we?

I’m a stoic kind of guy. I have a high pain threshold. Don’t like to be fussed over. Don’t like to draw attention. Refuse to be cowed. Would rather just grit my teeth and deal with the pain.

On Tuesday, July 5^th around noon, I turned into a big, whimpering, shouting-in-pain baby. Cursing. Yelling. Begging for help.

This was 2 hours after a stent had been removed as a result of my kidney stone blasting on June 30^th. The stent was put in because my congenitally narrow ureter would not let the blasted stones pass. I had a bad reaction to the stent removal (which, by the way, was removed with one smooth yank as if the doctor was starting a boat motor).

Those shards were a vengeful lot.

Percocet would not touch the pain. There was nausea. I was overwhelmed by the sheer agony.

Elisabeth rushed me over to see my urologist who sent me over to the hospital. Admittance seemed to take forever. I screamed and cursed in the hall. Elisabeth, in her desperation, to somehow help me, told me to be a cowboy. We had been watching old “Gunsmoke” episodes and she was referring to the tough old cowboys who could take a gunshot, wince a little and keep on riding.

If only it were just a gunshot.

There was paperwork. Then I had to wait while they cleaned a room. Finally finally finally they wheeled me up to room 531. Then there were the vital signs to take. Finally they gave me shot of dilaudid and poked me with a needle 6 times before finding a spot where an I.V. could take hold.

The average nurse could not do it. They had to call in their top sticker.

Then they handed me a pain pump.

It took some time for the pain to subside to manageable levels but about a half hour later, when a nurse asked, for the umnpteenth time, if I was diabetic, I said in a commanding voice, “No! Bring me some candy!”

I spent a foggy night and 2 hazy days in the hospital.

On the 14^th, they went in again and blasted the shards into sand. I understand they left no stone unturned.

These days, I am drinking liters of water and hoping to pee sand. Please send passing thoughts.

What’s up with you?

I found this online. Obviously they put a lot of thought into this swell t-shirt.

Baker's Dozen

Yesterday I had my stones blasted.

Thirteen of them.

Today it only hurts when I laugh.

Or stand.

Or sit.

Or lay down.

Or walk.

Other than that, it is all fun fun fun!

Fireworks are for sissies - macho men celebrate Canada Day with a parade of kidney stones while spittin' toe-backie juice and rasslin' grizzly bars. Now if I can only make myself chaw on a plug and find me a bar, I'll be all set.

I use visualization to minimize pain, immersing myself in a few of the memorable places I have visited. And so...

3:30 am. Lake Ponderay, Sandpoint Idaho. Light jacket cool. No breeze. Mountain air so fresh, you can taste it. Morning birdsong. Water gently lapping.

Uh oh. Lapping water.

Lesson - never visualize lapping water when trying to take a break from peeing stones.

Happy Canada Day!

Ouch.

Gotta go!