My two-part series on my two-part medical emergency

You gotta have goals in life. This day, my hospital room
whiteboard notes I reached by goals ... twice!

"I’m fine. It’s fine. It’ll be fine."

Interpret this as: "I’m not, it’s not and it won’t be." 

But I’m going to grit my teeth, be tenacious and stubborn, and negotiate or strong-arm my way through the situation to make it “fine.” 

Until I can’t. Until I have to give in, give up control and accept something is not going to go my way and, while it’s still my ride, I’m no longer the driver.

And that’s how I ended up a patient in a local hospital recently. 

It started off innocently enough. I was out running errands at a local shopping mall when my skin became clammy and chilled, and a sharp pain began staccato beating in my right lower back. I’ve had multiple kidney stone attacks in the past and they all begin the same way. I know I have about 30 minutes to get someplace safe (preferably home in bed) to brace for the waves of pain that will begin to batter my body. 

And so I did just that. I drove home. Going to a hospital would’ve given me pain medication to help but ultimately the stone would still be mine to pass when it was ready. Once the stone began moving from my lower back to my abdomen, I hoped I could ride out the worst. "I’ll be fine," I assured myself.

I howled. I yelled. I cursed. Kidney stone pain is a fresh hell all its own. I did pretty well. I rode the pain rodeo for about 12 unyielding hours. 

"I’ll be fine," I assured myself..

Spoiler alert: I was not fine. 

I called a cab in the middle of the night and went to the closest hospital emergency department. And even though my pain was more than I could stand, I was the quietest one in the waiting room. 

After a wait, I was taken into an emergency department bed, vein found by expert hands and then sweet drip of pain medication began to flow through my bloodstream. I wasn’t fine, not by any means, but I would be with a little help.

Every medical professional treated me with kindness and respect. I’m normally an easygoing person but, on pain meds, I’m a sheer delight. Because the doctors wanted confirmation it was a kidney stone I was dealing with and not appendicitis or a gall bladder attack, I underwent both ultrasound and CT tests. And, like the queen I am, I greeted everyone I passed with gusto. 

My pain med mic drop, however, came when my gurney was parked back at my emergency department spot. The curtains around the gurney has been drawn and a nurse named Noel came to my bedside. He looked very seriously at me, deep into my eyes, and said: "There’s a syphillis outbreak in Alberta. Would you like to be tested?" 

Now I heard most of that correctly but the part that my fogged brain did not get was “would you like to be tested”? I heard: “You’ve been tested." I stared at Noel in shock. I muttered, “How can this happen?” to which he replied, “It’s voluntary and done through blood testing." Something penetrated that fog; something that said Noel and I were not connecting. 

“I don’t understand how this could be," I said. "You have to have sex to catch syphillis.”

And Noel, the person not on pain meds, finally caught on.

“No, no! You haven’t been tested for it. I have no idea if you have it. Would you like to be tested?” 

Understanding I did not have it, I said, “No, I’ll come back if I have sex."

Noel went away ... and so did my stone. 

I successfully passed it in the hospital and felt immediate relief. I knew my body had been though a lot so I would need a day or two to rest and rest some more. And so, with a few pain killers in hand, a prescription for antibiotics in case of infection and a full cup of ice chips, I went home. 

I had done it. Weathered the worst. But around here when you think you have it all under control, all your faculties gathered, there’s a saying that generally pops up to remind you that nothing is as easy as it looks.

And so “hold my beer” happened.

Watch tomorrow (Nov. 5) for Part 2.