Bear with me folks, this is a long one..
About a week and a half ago it when it all began. My encounter with Pure Evil (whom we shall call PE from now on although I did consider naming it after the most wretched ex-boyfriend ever, Shiloh but then I realized I know a great dog named Shiloh that redeemed the name so Pure Evil it is). It was a regular Wednesday afternoon. I was trying to finish my work so that Thursday would be a really good one. Then I felt it. Is that a Urinary Tract Infection? Oh god, please no. I've had one before and it was really awful. So much discomfort. I really really don't want one. I decided to wait it out. Then came Thursday morning when I was sure I had a UTI. For those of you who have never had one, first of all be really really grateful and second, the symptoms are generally an extreme need to pee accompanied by an itching / burning sensation and then an extreme need to pee again. I had a pretty mild case of that feeling but I wasn't going to chance it and let it get any worse. I went straight to my doctor, didn't even check in, just walked up to the nurse and told her my plight. She took pity on me and asked for a urine sample and put me in a room. Urine samples are never fun. I'm guessing they aren't very easy for boys either. First of all, they want you to release a little bit of urine and then aim the rest into the cup. Girls don't have a convenient spout to direct the urine. It just goes where it want and when you are bent over in an unusual position to watch where it is all going and trying not to touch the public toilet seat at the same time, you end up with very little in the cup and the rest all over your legs and hands. I don't care how sterile it is, still gross. Then you have to wipe the excess off, screw on the lid, wash yourself and carry this thing back down a long hallway into the waiting room and hand it over in front of strangers watching. Of course they are watching, they are just glad it isn't them.
Back to the story. I see the doctor and she agrees that my symptoms point to a UTI. She gives me a prescription for antibiotics and sends me home. I should begin to feel better in a few hours but within 24 for sure. My time at the pharmacy is a whole other blog. I'll get into my hatred of CVS one day. Flash to Friday afternoon. No change, still not feeling so hot and now I have a slight pain in my kidney but it comes and goes and isn't all that bad so I'm going to ignore it. I have a big weekend with the Fur Ball (Humane Society gala event, not weird sex party) and a friends' wedding. I can't be unwell. I'm going to just power through and those antibiotics are going to do their job. Except PE had other plans. PE had just begun to find ways to make my life hell. The pain in my kidney was getting worse and I needed to pee constantly but with nothing coming out. I went to Whole Foods and bought cranberry juice. Not the wonderful cocktail mix by Ocean Spray but pure, unsweetened cranberry juice. I was on a mission. I was drinking anything acidic I could find. I went through a gallon of that misery in a glass. Why do they even make that crap? It was horrible. Nothing is worth that and I still didn't get any relief. I made it through Saturday night with a lot of wine and willpower. Each trip to the bathroom was a long walk down a hall of pain. Each step filling my pool of dread just a bit more toward overflow. I didn't want to pee but had no choice. My body was telling me I had to, there was no time left. It was now or in my clothes. But it was all a lie. There was nothing coming out. Just a few sad little drops, I had more tears coming down my face. We left the ball early. I look forward to this event all year and we had to leave early because of PE. That unruly bastard!
There was no sleep Saturday night and then PE's favorite day began. Sunday. I woke up doubled over in pain. The fucking antibiotics were not working and I was miserable. I tried to continue the 'ignoring it' treatment but by 10 am I knew something else had to be done. The wedding was at 4 so I had some time for something to change. I called the emergency doctor and explained the path that PE was taking. She went for a different course of antibiotics and called it in for me. Another trip to the dreaded pharmacy (CVS) from hell. I went home with my precious cargo and began what I thought was the road to recovery. I wanted to snort those antibiotics I was so desperate for relief. I now had a wretched pain in my side and thought I would die if I didn't get to pee. One long, luxurious, god given pee was all I needed. I was sure of it. By 2 pm I was writhing in pain on the couch and it was clear I wasn't going to the wedding. My wonder husband decided on a course of action that included margaritas, lots of water, and weed. Plus an 800 mg tablet of ibuprofin. That helped quite a bit, it was the best I had felt in days and I was still unable to move. Five 32 ounce glasses of water, 3 margaritas and an a pot brownie later, I still couldn't pee well and the antibiotics were not helpful. PE was giggling hysterically somewhere, I just couldn't hear it over my screams of agony. There were a few breakdowns on Sunday. Crying, begging for help, etc. After the calm eye of the storm, Monday morning arrived.
I was supposed to go to work. I had three inspections to do and I was ready to walk out the door when it became clear to me that PE was in charge. I couldn't stand up. I was shaking and crying. I was in more pain than I ever thought possible. (I had no idea it was going to get worse) I had my office cancel my appointments and I drove straight to the doctor's office. My regular doctor wasn't there but one of the other doctors took one look at me and let me into his office. I was almost hyperventilating at this point from pain. They asked for another urine sample. (Seriously??!!) So not only do I have to try that fun experience again but I have to do it while doubled over, shaking, and crying. So not amused. Took forever and only about a half ounce showed up. The nice doctor man decided there was no way it was a UTI and that I most likely had a kidney stone. It was either that or I was in labor and since there was no way for the latter to be happening, it must be the former. PE had taken up residence in my kidney. (when I say Pure Evil, I mean Hitler and Freddie Kruger and Richard Ramirez and Manson and Hannibal Lecter and anything else that is dark and deadly and wrong in this world all rolled into one) He said I should go to the emergency room and needed to be admitted. He would call ahead and let them know I was coming. He was worried I couldn't drive myself. At that point, I would fly there if it meant relief.
I check in to the ER (another urine sample for fucks' sake!) and they are kind enough to pump something called dilauded into my IV. Oh sweet wonderful bliss. The searing pain faded into a dull throb and I was able to breathe again. They took blood, did a CT scan, came back with results. I wanted to stay there forever wrapped in their cocoon of freedom from PE. The doctor came in and said, you have a kidney stone. He didn't know that it had a name, PE. It is 3 mm and we don't usually do anything for less than 7 mm so we are going to send you home with some meds. One will dilate your pipes to make it easier for the stone to pass, one is for the pain, and one for nausea. I'm not nauseous. Oh, just wait, you will be. PE has plans for you. And home I went. Far away from the safety of their dilaudid filled IV. I had no idea how many times in the next few days I would wish I lived at the hospital. It seems like such a blessed place full of sweet little old nurses and relief. Home was not this place. Home did not have peace for me. Not this week.
The dilaudid wore off. Now all I had was percocet which in the sceme of things is like butter. Nice to have but doesn't really do a whole lot but slightly lubricate with some flavor. The rest of Monday, all of Tuesday and Wednesday, and part of Thursday were spent in a blur of pain meds and severe pain. The vomiting arrived on Tuesday morning. That was an entirely unneccesary addition to the misery. I was so unhappy. I even tried a home remedy of 2 oz. olive oil, 2 oz. honey and 2 oz. lemon juice. Wasn't all that bad really but I threw it right back up. PE didn't want to leave without a fight. Each time I peed I was sure the pain couldn't get any worse and that this was time it would pass. And each time, the pain did get worse. I still can't believe the degree of pain I felt. It changed the whole 1-10 pain scale for me in a big way. There is no comparison for me but according to what I have read, it is as bad a birthing a child but without the epidural and nothing to take care of you in your old age as a result. I don't ever fucking want to know. It was PE. Without a doubt, just Evil.
It took a week but I'm fairly sure that PE has finally left me. I woke up today feeling almost normal and pain free. Peeing is starting to be fun again. I won't miss the percocet which just made me itchy and constipated. I hate puking so that won't be missed. The writhing in pain, the crying, the hopelessness, yup, it can all go. I only wish this pain on those who deserve it. Those who are PE.
