3:06am. Woke up hurting fierce. Fiery pain in my belly. Front, left side. Just above the belt.
Woke up Melanie. Writhed in pain. Broke into feverish sweat. Thankfully Mamaw & Karli are here from Louisiana so we didn't need to wait for childcare.
This is my third kidney stone, but first since we've had children. A few days after I'd endured stone two, I'd heard from a co-worker who'd had three children—naturally—and two kidney stones that stones hurt worse than childbirth. Of course that evening I went home & announced this to Melanie. I was, in a sense, defending my honor and propping up my wounded ego after my unmanly behavior of rolling on the living room floor wanting to cry for my Mama. Melanie, ever quick, her eyes fixed like pins popping my balloon stated, "If you breathe a breath of that when I am in labor, I will slap you into next week!"
I still tell that story, however. Just did. You read it. But, just to make sure you know, I tell you here: I was smart enough not to mention it during the birth of any of our children.
Back to today... Got my kind nurse. Got my confident nursing student. Got my little open back gown. Got my IV. Got my nicer than expected lady doc. Got some morphine.
Didn't take the edge off. Kidney stone pain tends to come in waves. Not unlike contractions. Mine were coming about every three minutes at that point. That means its time to deliver, right?
Got to the cat scan room. Didn't hear a meow. Maybe a purr as that thing spun. Not even the sight of any shed fur. It is a hospital you know. Clean. Gotta ask how they remediate that pesky fur.
Quicker than I knew it was legal as per some unspoken hospital rule I got my test results. Resisting my urge to ask where the cats were hidden, I got the news from the doc. Yes, my medical layman's diagnosis was accurate: kidney stone. 3.5 millimeters.
The good news: It is ready to pass soon.
The bad news: There is a second one "up in there." Her professional medical terminology.
Twins. One is ready to deliver. Soon I hope. The other may linger.
Got some Toradol. That worked. After two hours in pain, ten minutes of Toradol had me feeling much better. And the doc even threw in a RX for the road so I could go home before my sleeping kids even knew I'd been gone: Hydrocodone.
So, in honor of the drugs that work for me, I decided right there to name my pain in waves like contraction causing twins, Tori and Hydi.
Yes, I'm "under the influence" even now. Could you tell? A cheap-drunk pastor with a laptop and a blog can be a dangerous thing. My hope is that I made you smile & maybe even laugh.
My greater hope, however, is to deliver the twins soon.