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Sunday, July 9, 2006


Big word for BIG f'ing PAIN! I just woke up from a sound sleep in excruciating pain all for something the size of a pea (I think..I dunno this time).

This all start Friday morning...I was on my way to work, the bus was stuck in traffic, but I was happy it was Friday and I was in jeans. I had some serious work to finish up and just wanted to get it done with so I could go about my weekend. Suddenly, an old familiar sting started to work it's way into the right side of my back. Yep, a kidney stone.

Now, I've had a few little bitty ones since "Spike" from 2003, but nothing of Spike's magnatude. I figured it was just another little one and decided to let the bus drop me off downtown, rather than ride it back up to the park and ride. I got into work as the pain intensified. Lovely, huh? So, I figured I'd call the doc and see if he'd call something in for the pain so I could go about my business.

The new mystery baby had other plans. The pain began to get to the "I think I'm going to boot" phase, so I let my boss know what was going on and asked if I could go home and work from there (that way I could take one of my remaining percocet stash kept just for these purposes).

On my way out the door, the doc called and said "Hey, I want to see you. Now." So I hopped on the first EBA (bus) and headed to Shadyside, my old hood. The pain intensified and I was quite uncomfortable, but doc did a urinalysis and took one look at me and said "you have a kidney stone. Take some percocet, drink lots of water, get an ultrasound, and let's see you in a week...It should pass by then." Gee thanks doc, why do you think I just called and asked for the drugs.

There I was, stuck on the east end of town, in excruciating pain, with no way to get home quickly. I called the good ol' yellow cab and waited for someone to show up. 15 minutes and 2 panic attacks later, the cab shows up and I tell him "I don't care how many miles it takes, get me home the fastest you can." I just wanted to get home and take a percocet so that I could relax. The gods had other plans. That cab took the longest F'ing way home that took 20-minutes(hours) and I about jumped over the seat to push the gas for him.

When I finally made it home I ran through the doors, up to the bathroom and found my stash of percs. They were old, but I figured they'd do until I could get to the pharmacy later. I figured wrong. That perc didn't do SHIT. But, I didn't want to go anywhere until I could find someone to do the ultrasound. One of the million local hospitals was actually able to squeeze me in that afternoon, so I figured "let me get the Rx filled, drive up there, get the ultrasound, and then get my ass home to take the drugs. Well, that was the longest F'ing 2 hours EVER!

I'd like to say I handled the pain as best I could. I have a really high tolerance, but this was out of my hands. I was driving in traffic, crying like a baby, and swearing everyone and everything up one side and down the other. I got to the hospital and they rushed me through to ultrasound (as fast as a non-ER part of a hospital can "rush," mind you. The lady from imaging came out to the waiting room to get me and on her way there found me pacing, sweating, and swearing at no one in particular. "Scott?"

It was more of a statement than a question. She didn't even need to walk into the waiting room, she just recognized the look of someone who's body was playing mean tricks on him. She grabbed my arm and dragged me to the ultrasound room. She skipped the little changing room and gown routine and said, "Take off your shirt; we'll do this as quickly as we can."

I explained that I have percocet waiting in the car, but can't take it until I get home (there was no way I was going to drive while loaded up on narcotics). She nodded and then proceeded with the ultrasound.

Still having somewhat of a sense of humor -- I had to laugh, or else I would cry -- I asked, "So, is it a boy or a girl."

Not missing a beat, she calmly said, "Twins. Oops, spoke to soon looks like maybe 3 or 4."


Too make a long story, well, not so long. I got my results, got my ass home and loaded myself up on drugs (the legal variety, of course).

It's been a really sucky weekend of drugs, sleeping, swearing, and straining my pee through to see if I can find the little bugger that's causing this...Knowing full well there are 2 or 3 of his buddies waiting in the wings to have their chance with me once this guy's been passed. The anticipation is almost as painful as the little rock passing through a tube the size of a hair. I hear once it makes it to the bladder, the pain should subside, but getting there is the real battle.

I know people think of the Stones and think of some drugged up guys with bad hair screaming into a microphone -- Well, they're actually not too far from the truth...I shall name this one "Mick Jagged."


At 7/09/2006 4:13 PM, Blogger honeykbee's whiny, bitch-ass comment is...

I sincerely hope that Keith PrickShards leaves you and your "tubes" quickly and with as little ado as possible



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