Just because I like to make dudes cringe…

Ok. My new best friend, Harmonica Man, one upped my vasectomy post by so cruelly describing how he was snipped, sans local anesthetic, and thusly and understandably passed out. Anyone who has felt that snip and smelled the burning flesh of the vas deferens being cauterized knows that doing this “al natural” would be…..bad.

Not to be outdone, I might as well return the volley and take it to the next level. So, on that note: let’s talk about kidney stones.

Attack without warning

It was 1996, but I remember it as if it were 2006. Frenchy had already gone to work and I was awoken with an odd sensation in my GI tract. Anticipating a bit of Montezuma’s revenge, I hightailed it to the shitter. Only nothing happened. I sat there feeling nauseous until I began to sweat and become dizzy. I stood, now concerned as my condition escalated, and as I became erect, I was struck so suddenly and so severely that I nearly lost consciousness. I remember being face-down on the bathroom floor, fearing death (as I had never before, nor since, experienced anything remotely comparable).

Praise Jesus

I apologized to God for my many sins and prepared for the next dimension until I found enough inner strength to get to my knees and search for a phone. I was literally in so much pain that I could not see the numbers to dial. Ironically, my fiscal responsibility overshadowed my impending demise, for instead of dialing 911 when I finally was able to visualize the keys; I called for a cab. I was still unemployed at the time, and I somehow knew an ambulance would be a tad out of my price range. I decided to choose life and I struggled to dial the number. Note: This was during the height of our boozing days, and I knew the taxi number better than my own.

ER

As we got in sight of the hospital, my cab driver stopped at a red light. Keep in mind that it’s about 5am, and I’m literally moaning and groaning in the back of the cab like I’d been shot. The cabby had to be freaking out. As I noticed we stopped moving, and there were no other cars on the road, and I still think I’m dying, I yelled something to the effect of, “RUN THE FUCKING LIGHT AND GET ME TO THE FUCKING HOSPITAL, please.”

I don’t remember anything after that, I believe heavy narcotics were in play soon after my arrival.

Girls, stop whining about delivery pain

A point of fact. Two of my ER nurses had both given birth and had kidney stones. They both concurred that the pain from stones far surpasses that of child birth. I have since had this opinion reiterated by other women. Strangely, when I attempt to discuss this with pregnant women, I receive a range of reactions from smirks to a particular finger being extended in my direction.

Battery Acid Pee-pee

The next week or so I was in and out of the hospital from similar, though not as severe, attacks. During this time I endured a couple of fun activities. First came pissing blood. This, though gross, was not that bad until it began to burn. And with each successive urination came an increase in burning. This culminated in me having to “hold it” for hour upon hour until I could hold it no longer and finally relieve myself with such agony that my neighbors could hear me scream.

An added twist to this painful bodily function were the blood clots that began to squirt out, scaring the living shit out of me. I could feel them make their way through the Urethra until they emerged into the strainer that I was required to pee in to attempt to catch the stone. Gross? Oh yeah.

The Silver Stallion

Somewhere along the line, during my numerous hospital/doctor visits, it was decided that my bleeding was a result of some type of infection. I needed a stent (picture a thin, spaghetti-like tube) to be inserted between my bladder and my kidney to open up that pathway. And there was only one way in. Yep, through the wee-wee. Now you may ask, how does one jam a piece of spaghetti into one’s penis? Well, it’s easy. All one needs is a shiny metallic device, a cylinder of sorts, about the circumference of a straw, roughly a foot long, to be inserted into the penis and up the urinary tract to create a resistance free opening for the spaghetti to be inserted. This device was so glibly referred to by my male nurse as the Silver Stallion. Yes, joy of joys, I had a male nurse sterilize my twig and berries and assist in this little party. Aside from my sheer terror, I pondered whether I should fluff it up a little or just leave it as is; a scared little limp piece of flesh. I was too drugged up to get any fluff anyway, so I just coward in teeny-ness and bit on a wooden spoon to muffled the shrieks.

It gets worse

My doctor concluded my stone was stuck and said they needed to go in and get it. One moment I’m on a gurney getting anesthesia, the next I’m waking in the recovery room with a catheter extending out of my sad little buddy. Though it’s great to be able to pee while laying in bed, that’s about all that’s good about having a catheter. A couple weeks later, everything was back to normal with one minor detail remaining; the stent needed to come out.

Now we’re in the office. I’m on my back, balls in the breeze. The same male nurse gauzing me with iodine. And the doctor wielding the mighty sword, the Silver Stallion. This time I did not have the benefit of a week’s worth of morphine clouding my bloodstream. I have only one thing to say about that. Ouch. Fuckity, fuck, fuck, ouch.

The sequel ???

They say that kidneys stones tend to return to those who have joined the club. My doctor said I should expect another visit sometime within 10 years. I’ve just begun year 11. I’m so due. I’m scared. Someone hold me.

I’d love to hear about your experiences, fellow club members. I know you’re out there.