Friday, March 15, 2013

Son of a Mother Screaming Goat!!

Last night I stood completely naked in my four year old daughters bedroom full of firemen and my husband, and it was not a dream. 

That HAPPENED. It is on the permanent record of my life and the saddest part is I'm not even a little embarrassed.

You see, it all started with a pinch in my tummy, not my back or my side, just an uncomfortable "ugh" below my belly button to the left. I'd had a nice day, fine evening, and I decided to just get in the shower to shake off the pinch. When I got out, I heard a furious lean pink machine crying a demand for a third bedtime story from her tired old dad, so I wrapped myself in a towel, headed up the stairs, and then proceeded to collapse into the fetal position on the cute new rug we had just purchased for her room yesterday. 

The end.

Seriously. My memory from that point until now is kid of like a foggy strange nightmare. The pain... listen, I have done pain, but the speed of this, the relentless rage of it... I am still completely ashamed of the way I could not stop screaming. My poor kids, Russell was hysterically scared and as I was pleading to the new carpet to show me any mercy, Alice cheerfully said "I'll help you mommy." Thank you Jon for calling 911 right away, and thank you Jody for taking the kids right that second no questions asked, because all I know is that suddenly there are tromping black boots all around me and I'm still a huddled dripping mess in a towel on the floor cursing at anyone trying to slip a dress over my head. When they finally asked if I would like to be carried to the ambulance or if I could walk there I gritted my teeth like my ancestor Wyatt Earp, grabbed the dress off the floor with one hand and told them "I can go, but get out of my way because I am going to run." 

Then I stood as the pain sliced me like Hell fire, pulled the dress over my head and proceeded to run down the stairs, out the front door, and up to the waiting gurney where I threw myself back into the fetal position and cried like Alice when Jon wouldn't read her that third book (in other words: with all my might).

My friends, I would have been a terrible pioneer.

An hour or so later, amid morphine and all the nice nurses and paramedics comings and goings, a man asked if I wanted socks? "Yes, please, and if you could also sock me in the face until I'm unconscious that would be cool." 

"Don't worry, that's coming," he replied as he lifted the sheets and prepared to put on, wait? One of my own favorite stripy socks? I look up and it's not a nurse, it's MY man! Seeing his face was like breathing in clean cold air on a hot muggy summer day. "It's you!" I finally sit back a little and laughing he asks "so you didn't know it was me when you asked me to sock you in the face, huh?"

Things got worse there right after that, but in between fits I was still able to hammer out what I thought was an alarming yet amusing update for Facebook while my husband looked on disapprovingly, when suddenly, wait for it... humph, it was gone. My belly hurt, my ribs were screaming, but the violent stabbing had finally subsided. 

Turns out I had a stone that passed pain free through my kidneys only to get stuck in my ureter which is the last inch of the tubes that go from the kidneys and make the final deposits into the bladder.

Also, funny thing (hysterical really), the ureter is also the place in your body with more nerve endings per square millimeter then any other single place in human anatomy. 

No, really, a terrible pioneer.

Anyway, the moral of the story is: if you plan on going to the ER a lot, you should pack an emergency bag otherwise your well intentioned husband might bring you something to wear home that is almost as painful to look at as it would be to pass through your ureter:

photo (1)

Thanks to Jody, Paige, Isabelle and Kristina for helping out with the kids on short notice, to everyone else for all your nice thoughts and kick ass curse words, Russell King for the back rubs and making my name into funny art, and to Miss Alice for climbing in my covers at 6:30 am to hold her daddies hand while tucking my hair behind my ear and eventually telling me this weird story about being Rainbow Brite, talking to the "reg-lar" Rainbow Brite and eating candy until she died, but then they fixed her with "skitters and chinners and kenalls" and then when she wasn't dead she went to the winter woods and showed Tinkerbell's sister where she died and they laughed and laughed. And they ate more pink candy, and it was pink, and it was delicious. That's pretty much verbatim, make of it what you will but it cheered me up with its weirdness. 

That's all for now, if you need me tomorrow I will be at the pool continuing to be grateful about the not traveling across the country in a covered wagon thing. Good night!


Alissa Rae King said...

oh no... I just had a memory flick across my brain of launching into a full scale rant when the funny lady nurse came in to give me catheter. I believe it had something to do with how much I resent having to shave my armpits in the winter now that I don't live in utah, and my total inability to understand why southern california women all want brazilion waxes on their nether regions. I believe I tried to punctuate my attempt at humor with random phrases like "it's too cold!" "you can't see the forest for the tree's!" and something about bologna sandwiches.

Suddenly that outfit is no longer the most confusing and/or embarrassing part of this story.

Sharron said...

Naaah, it's still the outfit.

Erin said...

Could you make this story a little less hysterical? Because I'm trying to have sympathy for you, but then you make me laugh--and then that makes me think that maybe these things happen to you because only you could write about them. And then you added your comment at the end and I died. Dead.

Also, I hope you're feeling better. And I love you dearly.

Andrea said...

Only you can make me wish that I too had a fantastically funny kidney stone story! I'm glad your feeling better now ;)