***DISCLAIMER: I did not write this story. It is one of the best stories I read, extremly funny and scary too. After having read it I felt like I read a whole book, saw Psycho I-III and heard over 10 jokes in the WHT Jokes forum :hint: ***
My Kidney Stone Saga
Everything started subtly enough. In fact, it was so subtle, I chose to
ignore it. It was the fall of 1992. I was enjoying a good night's sleep
when the pain in the lower left side of my back woke me up around
2:30AM. It was pretty intense. The best description is a combination of
being kicked in the balls and having to take a massive **** at the same
time. So, I got out of bed and went to the bathroom. As I was rocking back
and forth on the toilet in pain saying, "What the ****!" over and over
again, my wife woke up.
Now, I must stop for a moment and say that my wife is a trauma nurse. She
always assumes the worst, call it an occupational hazard.
At this point, we were only married about 6 months. So, when she said two
simple words, "kidney stone", I chalked it up to her assuming the worst and
over the next few hours, the pain subsided enough that I could go back to
sleep. I couldn't help thinking that while I was sitting on the toilet, I
never did **** and I would have remembered being kicked in the balls. When
I woke up the next morning, I felt fine. So, being the typical male, I
went on with my life. And life was great for the next five years.
Then, in 1997, this strange pain from my past came back. This time it was
even more intense. It was in the same place... the lower left side. Again
my wife said "kidney stone" without even looking up from her Anne Rice
novel. Not that my wife is a cold person. Far from it. It takes a very
caring person to do what she does day in and day out. She simply knows
me. She knows that I will not see a doctor unless I am convinced that I
will die otherwise. When I was a kid, I saw my dad who was hammering up
some paneling, drive a nail through his hand. Instead of going to the
doctor, he grabbed the nail in his teeth and pulled it out.
I also saw my brother, who once had a kidney stone hanging half in and half
out of his penis for four days, remove it with a pair of needle nose pliers
instead of going to the doctor. You see, the "stupid male gene" runs in my
family. And I wasn't about to be the pussy that gave in so easily.
This time, however, the pain was not going away in a couple of hours like
it did five years before. So, I marched into the living room and said, "I
don't know, babe. Maybe I should see somebody." To which she replied, "No
****?" God, I love her. The next day, she came home from work with the
phone number of a urologist. My wife said, "He is considered one of the
best in the field. Other urologists, go to him when they have
problems." I wasn't even convinced that I had a stone, but agreed to call
for an appointment. I also called my brother. I described the pain and he
said, "Dude, you're ****ed. Let me tell mom". Mom is a nurse too. They
both told me to let them know what the doctor said. My brother offered to
let me borrow his needle nose pliers.
Logic won and I decided to visit the urologist.
I arrived for my appointment complete with attitude. After signing in and
waiting for about five minutes, my flight response kicked in. My wife
said, "Now you know why I came with you. Sit the **** down." They called
me in and I gave a painful urine sample. Then the urologist came in. He
was younger than I imagined... maybe early thirties and a very nice
guy. He said, "Hi Sam. I understand you're having some pain. Amy (wife)
told me a lot about you".
I asked what the hell that was supposed to mean. (See? Attitude in
tact.) Amy said that if I was willing to see a doctor, that the pain was
much worse than I was letting on. I finally nodded and said it was killing me.
The doc said that he wanted a KUB and an IVP because he found traces of
blood in my urine sample. Amy nodded and I asked, "What is a kay you bee
and an eye vee pee?" He laughed and told me that a KUB is an x-ray of my
kidneys and an IVP was basically the same thing with dye injected into
me. I said that I was cool with that. Needles don't bother me. We
scheduled the tests and the doc asked me if I had any
questions. Mistake. I said, "Yeah. How did you look at a schlong and say
'That's what I want to do for a living?" Amy was mortified and
embarrassed, but the doc just laughed and gave a great answer. He said,
"Most of the other doctors I know are real tools. It takes a special kind
of personality to do what I do."
I was floored that he wasn't offended by what I said and I shook his hand
and said, "We are going to get along great".
I had the KUB and the IVP, which were uneventful. Amy even let me go by
myself. She told me to take a pair of sweat pants with me because she
doubted the gown they were going to give me would fit. I am about 6 feet
tall and weigh about 420 pounds. She was right. The radiologist said that
the sweat pants were a great idea as long as there was no metal eyelet for
the drawstrings. Cool. At least I didn't have to walk around with my ass
hanging out. So any fat guys or gals reading this take note. The only
discomfort I had was that the dye for the IVP burned a little going in. No
I had another appointment with the doc to go over the tests. But having a
wife with connections is great. She was able to get the results before the
doc. On the morning of the appointment I asked her what we were dealing
with. She said that it looked like I had a stone in the ureter (tubing)
between the left kidney and the bladder. I asked her if it was a big deal
and she got kind of quiet. Hmmmmm. Then we went to see the doc.
When we went in, he had my pictures up on the wall. He pointed and said,
"You have two stones sitting on top of each other in the left ureter. One
is about 4 millimeters and the other is about 12 millimeters". I had a
reasonable grasp of the metric system and I said, "That doesn't sound too
bad". His reply was, "Yeah? Well think about where they are going to come
out". Doc 1 Sam 0. I said, "OK. What do we do?" He said, "Well, You're
not going to pass them". I looked at Amy, who was very interested in the
floor tile pattern.
I said, "OK. How long will I be off work and how big of a scar will I
have?" He said that I would only be off work a couple of days and there
will be no scar. "No scar? Then how in the world.... OH NO!! NO
NO NO!" He said that it was no big deal and started to describe the apple
picker device he was going to insert into my penis.
I wasn't even remotely interested. I said that there was no way and I mean
NO WAY that this procedure was EVER going to take place. But the doc
remained calm despite the fact that he had a 400+ lb man about to destroy
his office. I was starting to hyperventilate just thinking about it.
He just shook his head and said, "Well as I said, you're not going to pass
them but for right now you are getting urine around them. If, however
those stones decide to move side by side instead of one on top of the
other, you will feel pain like Hell itself wouldn't have it. Also, the
traces of blood in your urine are being caused by the stones cutting the
ureter. If they go side by side that trace will turn into a gusher and you
will be brought to me by ambulance instead of your wife." I wasn't hearing
any of this. I had to get the hell out of there.
He saw that I was unwavering. He said, "Fine. I'll tell you what. You go
home and think about it. If the pain gets worse or the blood in your urine
become visible to the naked eye, get back to me. Also, here is a
prescription for vicodin (?) in case you need it. I also want you to have
another KUB and IVP in 3 months to see if they moved at all." I told him
no problem. I would have done or said anything to get out of there. My
wife shook her head and thanked the doc. I learned of that part later
because by that time I was already in the car beeping the horn.
Things were manageable for the next couple of weeks. I filled the
prescription for vicodin but didn't use it. I found I could take the edge
off with a couple of Orudis. Then a couple of weeks after my last visit, I
was on my way home from a client's house. I was in the insurance business
back in 1997. My client was in the neighborhood of the hospital where Amy
worked. I decided to surprise her and say hi. Things were pretty slow in
the ER that evening and Amy and I were talking when I had the urge to
piss. I didn't think much about it because as I said, the last few weeks
have been fine.
Amy said, "Don't use the public bathroom. Go back and use the one in the
doctor's lounge". Now, I don't actually remember falling to my knees, but
I remember coming to in front of the toilet with piss everywhere (****ed up
a nice suit) and I was breathing hard. Anyone that has experienced this
type of intense sever pain will tell you that you can actually see
pain. It is pure white in your peripheral vision.
In the hallway, Amy was chatting with one of the other nurses. They both
stopped and looked at me like I just ****ed a nun or something. They both
said in stereo, "What the hell happened to you?" I said, "I don't really
know but I know I didn't like it". I was apparently covered in sweat. Amy
said, "You passed something didn't you?" I told her what happened and she
asked me if I saved what I passed. I said that I flushed it but I don't
think I passed anything because there was no blood and besides, the doc
said they were too big. She asked if I was ok to drive home. I said that
I actually wasn't in any pain. I kissed her and said goodnight. The drive
home was uneventful.
I called the doc the next day and told him what happened. He said he
knew. Apparently he had a patient in the ER that night and Amy told
him. He said he wanted to see me right away but to have some more pictures
taken first. The next week I took the pictures in to see him. He put them
up on his wall and said, "Son of a bitch! I can't believe it! They're
gone! That must've hurt like hell!"
Beaming with stupid male pride I said, "I told you I could pass them". He
said that he wanted to TAKE A LOOK. In all the times I've seen him, I have
never let him "take a look". We have always had consultative visits, never
an exam. When I asked him why, he said that he wanted to be sure that they
didn't tear something on the way out. That scared me a little bit and I
lay down on the table and dropped trowel.
Now for any of you out there that are not fat, the penis on most fat guys
retract. That means that you can't see it unless it is at attention or
unless you reach down and grab it like you have to piss. Don't get me
wrong. When I'm ready for action, it's not a bad piece of meat, about
average length and above average width. I just don't like the idea of
showing it off. Anyway, he put on a pair of gloves and grabbed me like it
was Saturday night. "Nothing that won't heal", he said. I pulled up my
pants and left foolishly thinking that was the end of it.
Looking back, it was just a prelude of the events to follow.
Over the rest of 1997, I passed about 6 or 8 smaller stones. Not very
painful. Just a little distressing seeing something solid fly out of my
dick while I am trying to take a piss. But I noticed a new type of
pain. I was discovering that every time I finished urinating, I felt a
twinge of pain. I had no trouble or pain while I was urinating, just when
I finished; I felt this deep down tug that was mildly painful.
It was definitely different from the pain I now knew as "stone pain". But
having learned nothing from the past I chose to ignore it. I found out
very quickly that this pain would not be ignored. In just a couple of
days, the pain reached staggering levels and a twist was added. I no
longer had the ability to wait. I was proud of the fact that I could go
for long periods of time without the need to piss.
I was able to feel the urge to piss at noon and wait until the evening to
let go without breaking a sweat. Now all of a sudden, I was in the
bathroom every hour. Once again Amy claimed she knew what it was. "Sounds
like a UTI (urinary tract infection)", she said. So, back to the urologist
I went. I pissed in another cup and the doc came in. "You have a lot of
bacteria in there. That's why the stink of your urine can peel the varnish
off a foot locker." He said that apparently, when those big stones came
out, they cut something inside and the cut became infected. He gave me a
prescription for Bactrum and told me to finish the two-week supply even if
I felt better. The pills were great.
Within just one day of the antibiotic, I felt a lot better. I finished the
entire two weeks like I was told but when I ran out of pills, the pain came
I called the doc and he said, "You must have a real bitch of an infection,
I'll give you another three-week supply". After the three weeks were up,
the pain came back again. When I called the doc for more pills, he
surprised me by saying, "No. You better come in. If five weeks of
antibiotics couldn't kill this thing, I better take a closer look". I
asked him what a closer look meant. He said a foreign word to me
"cystoscopy". Against my better judgment, I asked him to elaborate. He
told me that he would take a flexible scope with a camera on the end and
insert it into my penis so he could see the prostate and bladder.
I uncrossed my legs and said, "No thanks. More pills will be just
fine". He told me that he was not going to give me any more pills because
this could be more serious than a simple infection and asked when I could
come in. I told him that I didn't think the pain could reach the level
that would make me submit to such a procedure. He said, "We'll see".
I hung up the phone pretty pissed. After all I passed those stones without
his help. Therefore I must know more than all his years in medical school
taught him. Right. Going without any antibiotics for two weeks forced me
to call him again. I begged him for more pills. He said, "Sam. You must
be in unbearable pain. The fact that you're calling me again tells me
that. If Amy brings you into the hospital, I will give you a morphine
IV. Just come on in". I knew that was code for, "I want to stuff things
in your penis and watch you wiggle". I told him no dice. He said he
couldn't help me unless I came in. So that was it. I hung up the
phone. The "stupid male gene" won again.
I told her that I had to go doo dee very soon. She came out from behind
her station and listened to my stomach. I couldn't help but laugh at the
look on her face when she said, "Oh my. I'll try to hurry". My laughter
was soon replaced with pain and I asked her if she happened to have a
bucket or if perhaps I could borrow her purse. She told me that she was
almost done and I tried to solve complex calculus problems in an effort to
take my mind off the inevitable explosion. I heard her say that she was
finished and I was up and out of that room in a flash. I didn't know a 400
lb man could move so fast. I didn't even put my shoes back on. **** it;
I'll go back for them if I live.
Thank God I was in my wife's hospital and I knew the layout because if I
had to ask for directions, I would have **** myself for sure.
The bathroom I was racing to was small with only one stall and I thought to
myself, "If there's someone already in there I'll either **** in the sink
or grab him by the neck and throw him out". Thankfully there was no one in
there. I sat down and fired away. As the water mixture splashed my ass
cheeks and went out between my legs onto the floor, I made a mental note to
stay away from the liquid practical joke called barium. As I left the
bathroom and went back for my shoes, I stopped by the reception area and
asked if they had any of that yellow police tape so I could mark off the
bathroom. She gave me a confused look and I left.
It was the morning of "the scope". I knew that Amy had the two ativan
pills, but I'm a very large man. I know that it takes more drugs to sedate
me than the average puss. So I decided to wash down the first ativan with
a Hard Jack Cider. Amy just shook her head. She didn't protest because
she was just happy that I was going through with it. Either that, or she
was still in shock from the CAT scan story I told her. On the drive to
Harrisburg, I had another Cider. When we pulled into the doc's office, I
had the other ativan and another Cider.
I went in and was brought straight to "the room". I was told to strip down
and lay on the table. The doc came in and asked how I was doing. I told
him that the ativan was a joke and even the alcohol I used to wash them
down didn't help. He said that he was surprised I wasn't asleep. He said
that then again I was so stressed that he was afraid it wouldn't
matter. He got into position and asked if I was ready. I told him that
other than the fact that my dick was shriveled up like a stack of dimes I
was ok. I was breathing hard in anticipation and said, "Let's light this
candle." There was an intense pain as the scope went in.
I remember yelping like a shot dog. Amy was rubbing my forehead and the
doc said I was doing fine. Then I was ok. For a minute. Then I felt very
cold down there, and I informed the doc that I had to piss and I mean RIGHT
He told me that I only felt that because he was filling my bladder with
water so he could get a better look around. At one point in the procedure,
I remember Amy reminding me that humans need to breathe every so
often. She was right I had forgotten to breathe for Christ's sake! The
next thing I knew the doc said, "Ok, I'm pulling out". I never thought I
would hear another man say that to me except in my nightmares about
prison. When he pulled the scope out, I pissed all over the place. Ahhhh
revenge is sweet. He took his gloves off and toweled himself off and told
me that everything was pink and healthy. I said, "Great! Now what?" He
told me to get dressed and come into his office.
When Amy and I went in, he had my test results from the previous week in
his hand. He pointed to the CAT scan and said, "Take a look at this". I
immediately saw the stones in my kidneys. I said, "Is that a blown up
picture or is that life size?" He said that they were actual size. The
stone in the right kidney was about the size of a quarter and the one in
the left was between a quarter and a half dollar. He said that they were
so large that they couldn't even get into the ureters. That's why I didn't
feel them. They were also the source of my infection. When I took the
antibiotics, the infection would hide in the core of the stones. Then when
I ran out of pills, it would come back. Even I knew I couldn't pass
these. I asked him what had to be done.
He said "percutaneous nephrolithotomy". Being in the credit card business,
I had no idea what that meant. Basically he was going to drill into my
back straight into the kidney and remove the stones directly. I was at
least relieved that he wasn't planning another scope. He said that there
was only one problem. Because of my size, he was afraid that his equipment
wouldn't reach my kidneys. The largest person he had ever performed this
surgery on was a 300-pound woman and he was just barely able to reach. I
outweighed her by over 100 pounds.
He said he was going to send me to Philadelphia to a surgeon at Thomas
Jefferson University Hospital who had the equipment needed to complete the
surgery. He said this guy actually wrote a textbook and teaches other
urologists how to do it. Well, at least I'm in good hands.
Amy and I went to Philadelphia to meet the surgeon. He was a nice man, but
he had other ideas about the surgery. I asked him if it was because I'm
fat. You see, being fat, the medial profession assumes you are going to
drop dead any minute and they usually refuse to do any surgery unless it's
the butchery called gastric bypass (stomach stapling). He said, "No. Not
at all. In fact I've done the procedure on people in excess of 700
pounds. You are a lightweight. I just think that we can do it
So for the next two years, that's right I said TWO YEARS, I dealt with the
pain. Sometimes it wasn't so bad, and other times it was
indescribable. Sex was virtually non-existent (having a 5'8" 160 lb
beautiful brunette wife with a "D" cup, that was unbearable in and of
itself). But just thinking about "the scope", I knew I would have to get a
HELL of a lot worse before I would go back to the doc. Well, that's
exactly what happened.
Y2K. Everyone talked about it throughout 1999. I didn't have a stockpile
of toilet paper or anything like that. I knew that nothing would
happen. I left the insurance business in 1998 to work for a large credit
card company in Baltimore. I had off New Year's Eve with Amy and we spent
it together at home. I was battling a case of the flu all that week. I
very rarely get sick; maybe once or twice a year. The "piss pain" was
HORRIBLE! The infection from the flu joined forces with the infection in
my urinary tract and just like Hitler; I couldn't fight a two front
war. The week after New Year's, the flu subsided, but the UTI, well; I
just couldn't take it anymore. I called the doc and scheduled an
appointment to see him.
I gave another urine sample, which resembled a cool foamy beer. The doc
said, "It looks like you're infection is back". I said, "Back? It never
left!" This time, the doc was speechless. He said, "I figured since you
never called me back, the infection went away on its own. You mean to tell
me you've had this for 2 years?" "Damn skippy", I said. He hit me with
the clipboard he was carrying. He said, "That's it. Are you ready to
listen to me now?" I put my head in my hands and admitted that I was. Now
to the ladies reading this, I can't even imagine what it must be like for
you every year. But I know the men reading this understand the fear and
disgust that were going through my mind.
The doc said, "Ok. Here's what we're gonna do. I'm ordering some more
tests. I'm going to have you do another KUB, but also I want an ultrasound
and a CAT scan of your kidney area. Also you WILL have a cystoscopy. I
know it's gonna suck, but I promise it will only take about 5 minutes." I
was visibly shaken.
He said, "I'm even going to do something extra for you. Since you're being
such a baby about this, I'm going to give Amy two Ativan pills. It's an
anti-anxiety drug. Take one when you leave your house in York, then take
the other one when you reach my office here in Harrisburg. When I do the
procedure, you won't really care what I do to you." That calmed me down.
The week before the scope, I had those other tests. The KUB was
nothing. The ultrasound was easy. Someone spread goo on me and ran a
computer mouse over me. The CAT scan was an adventure. The procedure
itself was nothing, but the preparation was bad. The morning of the scan,
I had to drink three bottles of chalk water called barium. I've tasted
better cocktails, but no big deal. When I went in for the scan, I just had
to lie down on a table while the machine did the rest. I was told to be as
still as possible. No problem. About 10 minutes into the 20-minute
procedure, the technician reminded me to be still. I told her that I was
being still. The vibration she was getting was from my stomach.
I protested and said that my doc told me it had to be done through the
back. He said, "That's because he doesn't have a scope that will reach all
the way to the kidneys. The scope I have will reach no problem. It has a
laser attached to it that will break up the pieces into smaller
fragments". I was pissed and decided to push this guy's buttons.
I said, "In math class I was told the shortest distance between two points
is a straight line". Without missing a beat he said, "Yes. But in shop
class I was told not to make another hole if you already have one". Score
another point for the doc. He said, "Besides, with the back surgery, the
recovery period is 8 weeks and you would basically have to learn to walk
again. This way you'll be out of work for about 4 days and will need no
physical therapy. Also, you'll be asleep for the procedure". Logic won
and I decided to do it his way. We scheduled the pre-op testing for the
next week and the surgery for the week after that.
When I went for the pre-op testing, I met the anesthesiologist who was a
true fat phobic son of a bitch. He said, "How long have you been
overweight?" I said, "Over what weight?" He snorted and said, "Well,
before I agree to put you under, I am going to need more tests so I know
you won't die on me". What an *******! Knowing I was in good health, I
told him to bring it on. Blood pressure 140/80, cholesterol 188, I even
had an EKG. After the EKG, the technician said in front of this stupid
****, "I can't believe your heart's so healthy". I looked at the dip ****
anesthesiologist and said, "Are we done now? Because I need a
cigarette." The EKG tech said, "Wow your EKG doesn't show that you
smoke". I loved her.
Finally, the day arrived for me to be rid of the boulders in my kidneys. I
arrived and was told to strip and put a gown on. I had my sweat pants with
me and the nurse said, "You can't use those. Our gowns will fit you. She
was right. The thing hung off me like a dress. It would have covered a
Volkswagen easily. I no sooner changed than the nurse said, "They're ready
for you." I kissed Amy and they wheeled me to another room. A guy came in
and said that he was going to start an IV in me. I asked who he was and he
told me he was the anesthesiologist. It was a different guy than numb nuts
the week before. That made me feel better.
He started the IV and I was wheeled into the operating room. I was
surprised to see the room packed and I mean PACKED with people. There must
have been 20 people in the small room. I asked what was going on and the
doc took off his mask and said that this was a teaching hospital and that
most of these people were students. He said he doesn't do this procedure
on patients my size very often and he doesn't recall doing it to retrieve
stones this size. I shrugged it off. I was getting used to having the
world see my package.
They wheeled me next to the operating table and four men were about to move
me to the table. I stopped them and said, "You guys are going to move me
when this is over, right?" They nodded. "Ok by then I'll be dead
weight. Why don't you let me slide over now while I'm still awake and that
will cut your workout in half". One of them said, "Damn. Thanks man". I
slid onto the table and my gown was removed.
The doc gave me a briefing. "Pretty soon, the guy at your right shoulder
is going to put something in your IV that will make you go to sleep
fast. After you're asleep, you will be put on a ventilator that is going
to breath for you. Then I'm going to run the laser up the left side into
the kidney and break up the larger stone. There's a slight chance that
after that I will do the right side, but probably not. We'll schedule the
right side later if that's the case. Then the tubes will be removed and
you will start to breathe on your own. When you wake up, you will have a
sore throat and you will have some pain down below but the stone will be
all busted up. Do you have any questions?" I told him that I didn't and
he said, "Have a nice nap".
That's the last thing I remember.
The next thing I know, there is a guy standing over me saying,
"Whazzuuuppp!!" Like on the commercial. I said "Whazzuuuppp!!" back to him
and he laughed. He then said, "Ok, you woke up pretty fast. It's
6:30PM". It was 2:30PM when I went into the operating room. "I'm going to
take your catheter out. I need to deflate the balloon and it will slide
right out". I nodded because my throat was sore from my Budweiser
imitation. Then BANG!!! I went from groggy to WIDE-awake. Very sharp pain
in the penis. The Budweiser guy said, "Damn sorry about that, I thought I
let all the air out". I freaked. I said, "I want my wife, my glasses and
my wedding ring, right ****ing now!" Then things got foggy again.
I opened my eyes to see my wife. Man that was great. I realized I was no
longer lying down. I was sitting in some kind of easy chair. Then I was
greeted by a nurse. Petit, nice ass, nice perky tits, an all around
beautiful little thing. She handed me a cup of juice. I sipped at the
juice and realized my throat was sore but nothing serious. I asked her
when I could leave. She told me that I had to pee for her first. I said I
had to go right now. She said that I felt that way only because I had a
catheter in earlier. She left and said she would be back in a few
minutes. I was telling Amy about meeting one of the Budweiser guys and all
of a sudden I started to shake all over.
I yelled, "What the ****!" The nurse came back and both her and Amy told me
that it was the anesthesia wearing off. These whole body spasms came and
went for the next several minutes and then started to wear off. Scary ****
I must confess. The nurse asked me if I felt like trying to pee. I said,
"Sure I feel reasonably ok". Amy was on one side of me and the nurse was
on the other as I stood up. The nurse asked me if I was lightheaded and I
told her a little but nothing major. Then I started to walk. I started to
list like the Titanic and the nurse and Amy steadied me by my armpits. I
looked at them and estimated their combined weight at 275 pounds.
I said, "Listen. If I start to go, just run in opposite directions and
come back after the dust clears". The nurse asked Amy if the drugs were
talking or if I was always this funny. Amy shook her head and said I was
always this way. They managed to help me to the bathroom.
To this day, I still don't know how they did it. God bless nurses. Amy
grabbed a plastic urinal and the nurse held me steady. Because of my
belly, I wasn't sure if I was aiming at the urinal or not. Amy said, "Let
'er rip". I couldn't feel if I did or not and I asked if I did. The nurse
looked at the urinal, which had nothing in it except some blood and said,
"Not good enough". So back to the chair we went. The nurse said, "This'll
do it and opened up my saline IV full blast. Within a few minutes, we
tried again. I was much better under my own power this time. I filled the
urinal about a quarter of the way. It was all blood as far as I could
tell. But it was enough to get me out of there.
After the 3-hour drive back from Philadelphia, I wasn't feeling too
bad. Amy said if I was ok, that she was going to fill my prescription. I
asked her, "What prescription?" She told me that the doc gave me a script
for Oxycontin for pain. I said I wasn't in much pain but I knew I was
still getting over the anesthesia. While she was gone I had to piss
again. I noticed that there was a long hair in my way and when I went to
move it I realized it was some kind of string! When I tugged on it, I saw
stars. One of the cats heard my yelp, came into the bathroom, saw the
blood on the floor and my hands, and ran away.
When Amy came home, I told her about the addition to my factory equipment
and she said, "Oh yeah. Those are stents. They are plastic tubes about
two feet long that keep your ureters open. They will come out in four
days". I imagined her going to the pharmacy laughing to herself wondering
if I had found them yet. I'll never get used to the sense of humor of a nurse.
The real pain didn't hit until the next day. The bottle of Oxycontin said
to take 1 or 2 pills every 12 hours. So I took two, knowing how big I
am. After a while the pain was still intense so I took another 2
pills. What's the harm? I'm over 400 pounds and I do that all the time
with Tylenol or aspirin. My wife said she found me in the bathroom crying
with blood all over the floor. She said the conversation went something
"Why are you crying?"
"I don't know!" (sob)
"Are you in pain?"
"Not really." (sniff) (sob) (tears)
Then it dawned on her. "How many did you take?"
"Four." (boo hoo)
"Jesus Christ, Sam. Do you want me to call off work?"
"No. (sniff) I'm already such a burden."
"Oh for Christ's Sake"
She didn't call off work. I went into the living room and consoled myself
with the cats. At some point I fell asleep (passed out?). I woke up to
the sound of the telephone. Amy was asking if I came down. I told her I
was feeling better and that I'd see her when she got home.
Over the weekend, my bladder was giving me more piss and less blood each
time I went to the bathroom. The pain was manageable without the narcotic
episodes so I stayed away from them. Then on Monday, I went in to my
regular urologist to have the stents removed. He told me to strip down and
lie back. While I was getting undressed, he told me that they did both
kidneys at the same time so I wouldn't have to go back. That was good
because I was seriously considering death over another operation like that.
I got on the table and he told me to take a deep breath. I tried to ask
him why but it was too late. He grabbed the strings and pulled the two
feet of plastic out of my dick really fast like removing a band-aid. I
yelped and it was over, just that fast.
I wiped the sweat off my forehead and left. Over the next 4 days or so I
started passing monster stones. I was pissed. I called the doc and asked
him what the **** was going on. He told me that the laser breaks up the
stone but I would pass the fragments. Oh Joy!! This went on for several
days and after a week I decided to try exploring my sexuality
again. Everything was fine. The erection showed up on time and
everything. However completion of the act of love was extremely painful.
Guys, imagine yourselves at the point of orgasm.... Wonderful yes? Then
BANG!! Someone inserts a knitting needle into the head of your dick. I
decided to wait another couple of weeks. All total I missed 5 days of work
and am now pain free for the first time in a LONG time.
I read the whole thing, but didnt post about it...
Glioblastoma Multiforme (GBM) Brain Cancer Awareness. May is Brain Cancer awareness month. Gray Matters!
Incurable, 6-18 months prognosis, survivors longer than 3 years less than 1% chance.
Don't like what I say? Ignore me.
I read it - I would have thought it was funny, but I had them too (my story isn't nearly as bad, and I didn't require any intervention - they passed on their own accord).
Seriously, I have that stubborn stuipd male gene as well. Having said that, there's no way I'd live with an infection in THERE for any amount of time (The stupid male gene came be trumped by the possibility of damage to the male organ - trust me). And the pain I felt was of a sort that I would have shot myself before the next day went by (I have a high tolerance for pain meds as well - the first dose of morphine felt like they hiit me with a cattle prod, but no real pain relief. The second dose? I'd swear it was a placebo - never felt a thing. Demoral? Don't make me laugh. I don't personally see why drug fiends are harping for it - didn't do anything but make my thigh hurt for three weeks because of that large bore needle they used).
I dod remeber having the same feeling about the possibilities of treatment - I wasn't ready to be cut open, and I don't care what they give you for the scope - you still have that feeling of violation afterward. Lucky for me I didn't have to worry about that - I guess I'd have done it, but I shure wouldn't have liked it...