This too Shall Pass

When things are not going well we say, “This too shall pass.” This actually comes from the Bible, Acts 2, which reads, “And it shall come to pass”. In recent years, I’ve heard a little something added to the end of it. “It may pass like a kidney stone, but it will pass.”

I woke up Sunday morning with a belly ache; I blamed it on supper the night before. A chicken chimichanga, which was so good that even when I was full I pushed through and ate the whole thing. We were going to leave the next day to go camping all week, so I had lots to do – four loads of laundry, air out the bedding, put the camper up, clean it, stock it, put it back down.

The belly ache kept hanging on, with a few bouts of diarrhea throughout the day. I had checked the weather forecast for the week and it promised a few days of rain and only partly sunny the rest of the time. Highs in the mid-seventies at least. It crossed my mind that this camping trip wasn’t going to pan out.

Then, walking back to the camper late afternoon, I blew out my sandal. I know, big deal, right? Or a sign?

By dinner time, the belly ache and diarrhea had escalated so I only ate a piece of toast. That seemed to set pretty well, so a while later, I tried a bowl of cereal. The tummy did not like that. Or the lower right back.

By eight o’clock, I was in bed writhing in pain, the belly rumbling and tumbling, with a knife stabbing me in that lower right back. Hubby thought a trip to the ER was warranted, but I told him we should give it some more time. I laid down on the heating pad and tried to get comfortable. By nine, it wasn’t too bad and I slept most of the night.

Monday morning, I still had lots to do to get ready for camping. Since we couldn’t check in at the campground until three and it was just over a two-hour drive, I knew I had all morning to finish packing.

My back was only aching and my tummy only rumbling, so I took a nice hot shower. Then I ate a piece of toast. My body liked the shower all right, but not the toast so much. Nausea started rolling through my stomach like waves from a hurricane. The knife in my lower right back was joined by his friend the taser. Hubby made me cancel the campground reservations. “We can do something else this week, take a ride, stay closer to home and the hospital.”

“They have hospitals everywhere,” I retorted.

Shortly after that, however, I said, “Maybe we should go to the ER.”

Part of my problem is that every day, at the clinic where I work, I see patients who have had benign symptoms for a day or two. “My back pain is a nine on a scale of one to ten,” they tell me even though they have a smile on their face and are sitting at ease in their chair. “I woke up with a sore throat this morning, it must be strep.” “No, I didn’t take my temperature, but I know I have a fever.” “Oh, your thermometer reads 98.7? That’s a fever for me because my temperature is always low.” “I threw up an hour ago, it must be something serious.” “I’ve been coughing non-stop for weeks.” (Though they don’t cough once the whole time I am in the room with them.)

Anyway, so you can understand why I refuse to burden the medical community with my minor ailments. And actually, I was counting on the pain going away as soon as I walked into the building.

Nope, that didn’t happen.

When the doctor offered me something for pain through my IV, I naturally first declined it. When the nurse was sticking the needle into my arm, however, I asked if I could just get a small dose of pain meds. You’d think, from the way, I was curled up in a ball one minute, then thrashing the next, that they would have wanted to knock me out, with or without my permission.

I’ve rambled enough. I was thinking appendix or maybe a bowel obstruction. Kidney stone was on my list, and it even crossed my mind that I had picked up some nasty bug in Kenya in April and it just now had decided to take over my intestines.

Labs and CT scan came back with everything looking good, except for a 4mm stone in the right kidney. “Here’s prescriptions for Zofran (for the nausea), Vicodin (for the pain), and Flomax (to open up the ureters so the stone might pass on its own)."

Hmm? Here I am, four days later, in not much pain, but that darn kidney is still hanging onto its little stone as if it is a ruby or a diamond. My husband is just hoping it turns out to be something valuable. We have a better chance of buying the winning lottery ticket, dear.