My Kidney Stone

As many of you know, because I blabbed it on Facebook, I had an emergency surgery recently for a kidney stone. I think the "emergency" nature sent me into PTSS, or Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, for those without your DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) nearby. I am rarely sick. I had two children without a drop of pain medication. I am stoic -I had a fish hook embedded in my ankle recently and didn't get a tetanus shot after. But, I found that being alone, not know exactly what to do or where to go or even how to get there, unnerving. While I was in the pre-op, one of the nurses asked me where my family was and how I got to the hospital. I explained that I had driven myself from the airport and she said, "What? You should have called an ambulance! You are my kind of woman." In retrospect, I think I should have called an ambulance because I do not remember the drive except that I had the windows wide open and when I got in my car to drive home the next day, the A/C was set at 60 - I guess to help me not puke! And I do remember looking in the rear view mirror and scaring myself to see the whitest face possible coming from a person who generally looks like she has had a few too many face flushing glasses of red wine.

Sparing all details, there is something very reassuring to be whisked away in a wheelchair, into the ER and into the hands of people who bustle about and seem so knowledgeable while they poke IV's in and check blood pressures and put EKG leads on and generally make you feel that it will be OK now if you lose consciousness because the crash cart is nearby.

On the other hand, being wheeled about in a prone position on a gurney to CAT scans, and Xrays and such leaves one feeling a bit helpless and really exposed both figuratively and literally. I kept bending my knees and then putting them down, thinking - whoa, I might not have enough blankets on! I also couldn't help thinking that people didn't want to stare so they averted their eyes while thinking "I wonder what is wrong with her?" I hope they thought that and not "what happened to her hair?"

And lastly, I would like to tell all surgeons out there that it really isn't a good idea to discuss with the anaesthesiologist whether or not to paralyze me for the procedure while I am in earshot. And, when waking me up from anaesthesia so rudely by calling my name loudly while yanking out the intubation tube - did I really need to be told I am a difficult intubation? I think I figured that one out by the sore throat left behind. Now I will be scarred for the rest of my life obsessing over what that meant. Did I clench my teeth in defiance? Is my neck misshapen? Do I have a physical anomaly?

All humor set aside, I am very glad that I live in 2010. I don't feel that way when it is time for the dentist because he is still in the dark ages. But, even though medicine has a long way to go, can you imagine one hundred years ago having a medical emergency? I can, and that makes me very appreciative!