Back in October, I felt a little pressure in my bladder. Okay..I'm lying to myself and all of you, it was a lot of pressure. Like an elephant was doing sit ups down there kind of pressure. I ran off to my local emergency room on a Sunday morning to get it checked but I knew...yeah, sadly I had taken this trip before. Kidney stones!
I was so proud of the way that I navigated the hospital system in getting diagnosed and released in less than two hours, I sort of forgot about one thing....I still had the damn kidney stone inside my body.
The ER docs told me to see my primary doctor and I did that. They told me to pound water and I did that. They told me to see a urologist since this was stone number 7....yeah SEVEN! Ummm....I didn't do that because urologist scare me to death...at least close to it.
Besides I assumed I'd pass the stone because I always do. Yeah, it's that damned assume thing again.
Naturally, being a guy, I waited until December before doing a Google search for a urologist. You know how us older folks do a Google search and forget what we're looking for before the page loads? No such luck here.
So for about the last month, I've been seeing this urologist and her team. I've seen them five times...more than once a week. If we were dating, we'd already be in the exclusive stage. That doesn't include the three other times I've been there for scans, x-rays and ultrasounds. Hell, if we were really dating, we might be living together at this point.
After our third date...errrr...visit, I was told the stone needed to be removed surgically. When I told her that I wasn't ready to do that because I was heading out of town for a week, you should have seen the look of disdain on her face and in her voice. We were no longer dating or living together....we were married.
"I highly recommend you don't fly with the stone inside you. I highly recommend you don't go to a football stadium with a 100,000 people with a stone inside of you. We need to see you the day you return, is that understood?"
Why are all my doctors so good at guilt? I got out of her office as fast as I could with whatever dignity I had left and it wasn't much. I did make an appointment for the day I returned but didn't mention if we won the game I was blowing her off to go to Atlanta. That didn't happen. Sad.
We, and by we I mean me, thought we had dodged the surgical bullet when a test showed the stone was no longer in the bladder area. They, and by they I mean the spawns from Hell, wanted a second test...probably so they could just say "told you so!" But yeah, the stone was still there and besides doing the guilt thing, I was told I needed to be seen again the next day, if not sooner. It was the next day.
Now at this point, I know which road we're about to go to and also where it leads, so I've got questions...lots and lots of questions. But the assistant says, "let me show you this and maybe it'll answer all your questions." It's a power point presentation. It even has a touch screen. You ever see Steve Kornacki on MSNBC go to his screen to evaluate voting trends. It was exactly like that. All for a tiny kidney stone. Yes, it answered all of my questions and no it didn't make me feel better...not even close.
But it was time for the negotiations to begin.
Doctor Death: It's been three months. This needs to come out. How about Wednesday.
Scared little boy (no offense meant to little boys): How about two weeks from Wednesday?
Doctor who just received a cancellation by email and is totally pissed about it: A spot opened on Friday. It's all yours.
Dude looking for any excuse: But I'm planning on marching in that protest rally on Saturday. (After another look of disdain...fuck, when did these women become my mother?) Okay...okay..okay...Friday it is.
As for the surgery itself, they say it's minor but my motto is minor surgery is when it happens to someone else. I'll probably tell you the details about it later this week if I haven't run away into the witness protection program by then. But here's my final word of advice...if you're in a doctor's office and they have a touch screen on the wall...run the fuck out of the office as fast as you can. Think Usain Bolt fast. You're all welcome in advance.
Related Post: Cystoscopy or Death- It's a tough call
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