In the bathroom, everybody can hear you scream…
good things come to those with kidney stones...
So there I was on Saturday night, skipping out of work without a care in the world. My weeks work was over and I was off Sunday and Monday. The delightfully camp weather chap on BBC News 24 assured me the conditions would be fine for the enjoyment of outdoor activities and recreation. Sunday's plans involved the walking of a borrowed dog along a beach and the consuming of a piece of meat with better marbling than the Vatican. All rounded off with a Sunday night movie and maybe some adult shenanigans if the mood was right. Oh yes, I had a plan.
But when you wake up at 7am with what feels like all the fruity dancing horses of Austria doing a Riverdance on an area too close to your special zone for comfort you know all your lovely plans are for shit. And what is with dancing horses anyway? Who ever thought that was a good idea?
Obviously I assumed my time was up. The pain was like nothing I had experienced before, except that one time when United got gubbed by Barca in the European cup final. But that was a different sort of pain. Honestly I'd rather watch Cantona stroll about in a Lol'erpool shirt than have to go through one teeny tiny more minute of that. Why must horses dance on my groin? Why?
I phoned the smart people for advice, Little Miss Manuel and then my sister. The Cousin was in his bed in the Troll's Kingdom but I wasn't quite at the point were I needed a sarcastic remark or a quote from Midsomer Murder's DCI Tom Barnaby. He confessed to me later on Sunday as I was hunched over in a ball on my hospital bed that he heard it all but was too scared to come out of his room. Nice backup there kiddo. But the calls went something like this,
"uuuurrghh hello
....eeeehh pain
....pain in
....chest...
aaaaahhh
...no..oh christ...
..no it's a fucking heart attack...lower down..."
This went on for a bit and ultimately resulted in Percy, the brother in-law, coming over to take me to hospital. Which was nice. Getting dressed was a real fucking chore I can tell you. It's not easy pulling socks and pants on as an imaginary man with very real chain saw goes at your tum tum. And it really doesn't help when a combination of catholic guilt and the words of your mother float round your head forcing you to change your pants not once, not twice but three times. No doctor should have to rummage round in my nether regions and have to deal with Superman pants or surf bum inspired flowery pants. In the end I settled for the nice sensible and in no way offensive sober grey boxer shorts.
Sometime later and I was in a little curtained off room and looked for all the world like a Saturday night drunk who had over done it a bit on the cheap beer and cheaper drugs. I had already vomited due to the pain onto my sweater and my shirt was only randomly buttoned thus exposing the bits of my body that only Little Miss Manuel, god and the dead normally get to see. The look of disgust on one woman as she passed by said everything. I would have cared but for the unrelenting searing fucking agony in my lower quarter.
Various doctors and nurses and women with nice smiles and whimsical badges came and went and prodded and poked and tutted and shook their collective heads and whispered in corners but yet still nobody would make the hurty thing stop hurting. That was until the lovely lady with the loveliest smile of all came in and made everything right with the world again. I call her mummy now, she made the pain go away and not just the one in my zone of preciousness. Oh no with two jabs of her special syringe she took away all my doubts and fears and pains and regrets and constant feeling of shame. And whilst I loved her, I loved her vials of agreeable morphine even more.
Morphine, oh how delicious. I could spread it on toast and everyday would be wonderful and dreamy and lush. The Victorians knew what they were at when they decided morphine was their drug of choice. Although I am surprised they got a damn thing done. I mean we have them to thank for our wonderful sewer network. Although that just may have been a result of a few fellas strung out on morphine digging for the craic like.
Anyhoo everything was wonderful after that and when they said they were keeping me in I was quite honestly delighted. Hospital was were the morphine was and home was were The Cousin was. One makes you happy and dreamy and the other sits watching Columbo and eats HobNobs. Oh yes hospital was the place for me.
After much jiggery and indeed pokery and scans and X-rays it was decided that I had kidney stones. I was relived and not just because I was sure I had something far more life threatening but because it was something. If we had all gone on this awesome journey together to discover that I was just suffering from a large poo blockage I would have been as mortified as disappointed. At least kidney stones were something.
The rest of the day was a blur of advice and pills and Doctors who were quite frankly younger than some pairs of pants lurking in my cupboards. But bless their little faces they knew what they were doing.
So now I'm home and the morphine is gone and the kidney stones remain lodged in my internal system waiting for the right moment to launch their bid for freedom. Which is all fair and well but why oh why must they do it through my chap? I really don't want to have to piss out marbles. That doesn't seem like fun to me.
Worse than child birth they say. I shall call it "Ouchy" and it will live in my pocket.
Kidney stones, I am very much against them.
Cheers for all the good wishes etc both on here and in other places, they warmed me. But still....not like how morphine warmed me...
yikes, yikes, yikes! i read your first account to the MITM and he actually doubled over slightly and reminded me about the time he had to pass a stone in, as he said, “a fucking war zone leaning against a goddamn fence…” well, he said more, but this is a family friendly place…anyway, he totally understood and said to tell you to thank whatever god y’all pray to for morphine! oxoxoxoxo
Oh Savannah it was agony…until the lovely lovely morphine showed up…hmmmmmorphine…
That’ll teach you for being a fatty fat boy.
no, I really mean that.
one day you will wander my direction and I will make you wear my kidney stones like earrings…
glad that you’re home, but sorry there will be no more morphine… it really is quite delicious, and is heavily regulated for damn good reason. after my cancer surgery, had a morphine line DIRECTLY into the place that was cut… It made me happy that i’d had cancer. THAT’S the power of morphine… be well, launch that gravel!
Launch? I’d rather it moved into a quiet corner and stayed there quietly…
A friend of mine had a dose of the stones and he described it as being like pissing a building brick. Took me a while to uncross my legs.
oh dear…boo hoo hoo hoo for me and your chum…
No doctor should have to rummage round in my nether regions and have to deal with Superman pants or surf bum inspired flowery pants.
Obviously you missed my post about saying “no to novelty pants”.
Nonetheless…
There there.
The poor wee waiter.
I was thinking of it all the time….heh
Everyone should experience the delights of opiates at least once in a lifetime. I’m such a poor participant though, they knock me right out and make me vomit. I miss out on that dreamy floating feeling.
Glad you’re back home. Take it easy and make the cousin pay for his neglect.
I’d be happy if he paid rent….hehehehe that’s a hint by the way if you are reading this…
(((Manuel))) that sounds all kinds of horrible. Hope you are feeling a bit better now. Lots of love and good wishes from the family rubbish xox
ps i had morphine once too, it was kinace! I was feeling great at the time, and was particularly touched when the doctor turned round and handed me my childhood teddy bear. Awww, how thoughtful. Then someone pointed out that actually, it was actually my new baby and not a teddy bear at all. Which made a bit more sense in the context really.
A hahahahahahahaha! Brilliant. So what are you saying? Bill Murray really didn’t visit me?
Glad you are feeling better m’dear! For the good of your continued health I don’t recommend you keep saying it was worse than childbirth though. LMM will put you back in hospital if you keep it up!
A question you say? Fire away
most probably…
(I’ll email later)
Here’s hoping the DUP don’t request photographic evidence that you have actually decommissioned…..
ha, lovely thought…
Are you suggesting customers should now tip in morphine?
yes….yes I am…
For the love of all that is holy, man up and piss ‘em out!
I’ve just got this nasty feeling that you’re aiming to get an autographed photo of the entire cast of “Doctors” as some kind of get well soon gift.
man up? but I’m scared….all the time
Look for a cheer up treat in the post, Manuel.
Really? For me? A woo hoo!
so pleased you are feeling better and home, however, you’d better hope you can tinkle the stones out because the surgery is dreadfull. my father had stones, couldn’t pass them, the ultrasonic bath to break them up didn’t work to pass them so surgery it was. the scar left look like he had a bad run in with a sabre weilding pirate massive thing, but humour he had and ‘arrrrr matey’ rather suited him, being navy man and all…..
oh.my.god….eh, thanks cat…that helps….a boo hoo hoo hoo
*keeps a beady eye on inbox*
it’s not that exciting…
Sweet lord of fuck. Can they not blitz em out sonically or something?
I cannot uncross my legs now.
PS: Is the camp weatherman the ginger Polish one? My gaydar goes wild when he’s on.
ha…the other one….looks like the chap from It Ain’t Half Hot Mum….makes me giggle…
Ouch. And Yikes. And Ouch. I’m so sorry. I had a kidney stone once, but it was only the tiniest of the tiny, so I didn’t feel it until it passed, and even that was enough pain that I never ever ever ever want to experience it again. I’m pretty sure I would’ve died in your shoes. Even with the morphine. Did you pass any? I wish you all the best getting through this. Good luck!
Nope! Still firmly lodged within….the bastard…
Ouch!(collection of profanities) Ouch! Glad your OK, until the inevitable erm “travels”, might want to alert the neighbours that the screaming they’re going to hear is not Jack Bauer being tortured
Oh dear I had forgotten about the neighbours…they’ll be think there was a murder after sunday mornings malarky…
Kidney stones. Yes, I can mark that one off of my bucket list. One of only 4 times that I’ve called out of work in 5 years (one was dead car battery…really!, one was when I cut my hand about a month ago and had to go in for a tetanus shot at 5pm right when our preshift would have been ending, and the other was when…hell, I don’t even remember why that was…).
I’ve also heard that it’s similar to childbirth. I can only imagine that it’s about a fifth as bad, but it was the same sort of pain that I might imgaine…more like 5 times the worst cramps that a woman might get, for that was what it was for me…severe gut-bending cramps and vomiting until I was vomiting up a dry well.
When I went to the urgent care place, I had to call in and I could barely get the words out, I was cramping so badly. I thought that I had somehow gotten eColi or something. When they found blood in my urine, they went, “Aha! It’s kidney stones”. Xrays hadn’t shown anything. Unfortuntately, no morphene, but an antibiotic and instructions to drink lots and lots of fluids.
I feel cheated.
Next time I get kidney stones, I’m going to order morphene and I’m going to get it or I’m talking to a manager and I’m going to stiff my doctor.
we should form a survivors group heh…
Damn, I really *can* spell morphine and imagine…really.
it’s okay…if it wasn’t for red squiggly lines most of this would be unreadable….