If you’ve been following over on Single Dad Laughing, you know that I blogged about my recent kidney stone battle. But, I was too busy moaning and groaning my way through those posts to share all the ridiculous things that happened while suffering like a walrus at fat camp, or as high as a cirrus cloud while on those pain meds. This conversation is much too irreverent to share on SDL, anyway.
I mean, come on. I had fucking rocks growing inside of me, and taking care of the problem involved a team of people knocking me unconscious and jamming things into the end of my penis. I need to be less inhibited for this one, and that’s exactly what this blog is for.
Anyway, I was high on pain meds for basically three days straight… First the ones I overused, as I tried not to fucking die from pain, then the ones the hospital pumped into me to shut me the fuck up. And who am I kidding when I speak in past tense? I’m high right now. I’ve got a constant stream of Norco flowing through me, and I have no intention to stop until whatever residing monster that still lurks inside me finally goes away.
Do you know what happens when you’re high and in crazy amounts of pain? Your brain goes to the most strangely weird places.
Take, for example, this photo.
This was the during that first night, when I decided to combat the first kidney stone on my own, in the comfort of my own bed. Yep. While hurting so much I wouldn’t have minded death arriving, I had the very real thought, I need to get a selfie of this in case I blog about it.
I’ve got serious problems, you guys. And I swear to you that in that moment, with pain surging through me, and the pills making normal thought nonexistent, that thought made perfect sense to me. Why wouldn’t you all wanna see my face while I suffered, right?
Don’t worry. I learned my lesson of self-medicating and avoiding real medical help. Straight to the ER next time, so that someone with a license is to blame for my ridiculous selfies. Oh, and so I don’t leave my kid fatherless by overmedicating myself. I guess that shit’s important, too.
Anyway, late the next night, when the second kidney stone hit me, I did go to the hospital. I drove me own pathetic ass there, checked myself in, and was in that building for the next 23 hours. I’ve already talked about the pain, and the surgery, and all that stuff. No need to narrate much more. Instead, I hereby give you a list of whatever the hell this list is. I don’t fucking know. I just know it was all while I was taking the <ahem> high road.
- I’m pretty sure the ER doctor, who was a real tool, assumed I was full of shit when I walked in. He treated me like I was just there faking my condition, trying to get pain killers, and he kept emphasizing the word “think” when he mentioned my kidney stone. “So you’re here because you think you’ve got a kidney stone?” or “this patient thinks he has a kidney stone.” All while raising his eyebrows in disbelief whenever my back arched in serious pain. I wanted to scream at him, “I know I have a fucking kidney stone you fucking fuck stick! GIVE ME DRUGS!” But I also knew he controlled the pain medicine, so I was nothing but nice to him and his God complex.
BONUS: When he finally came and told me that the CT Scan revealed a massive stone that would need surgery to remove, he seemed seriously dejected over it. It was almost as if he had lost some sort of battle he was just sure he was going to win this time.
- Nobody would give me water. I was so frustrated with all of them. I asked for it. I begged for it. I flirted for it. Nobody would buckle since they didn’t know when my surgery was going to happen. “We don’t want you to aspirate water during surgery,” was common among their baseless excuses.
- I kept picking my phone up to check my texts and falling asleep while holding it in the air above me. It flopped hard against my face at least a dozen times.
- The daytime nurse the next morning was about my age. Super cute. She wanted me. Bad.
- Did I mention how much she wanted me? Here’s the proof…
- She kept coming in the room just to check on me. I mean, come on. That’s proof enough right there.
- She was the one who finally cared enough to get permission from the doctor to bring me a cup full of ice chips.
- She kept calling me “poor thing,” and saying things like “oh, I feel so bad watching you be in this much pain.” She obviously didn’t like seeing her new crush suffer the way I was.
- She was super cute. Did I mention that?
- She got super awkward when I asked her what the surgery was going to involve, and she had to say the word “penis.” I was like, hey girl. It’s all good. I get it. It’s still pretty early to be bringing up private parts and shit.
- She seemed to sincerely be thankful when I finally made a wee wee, and she didn’t have to put a catheter in. If it was strictly a nurse-patient relationship, would she really be thankful for that? I bet nurses live for putting catheters in.
- Hm. Do I make a new main bullet point on this list to point out that when you’re high, you see things happening like nurses flirting, when in a million bazillion years they obviously weren’t?
- I dunno. It probably should have been another indented bullet point. Oh, well.
- She did want me, though. For sure. She just didn’t know it.
- Moving on. I wore a beanie most of my time in the hospital. I don’t know why. It just gave me a sense of comfort to have it on.
- I drew this doodle on my iPad while super baked. I remember sitting there all giggly, waiting for the nurse to come back in so I could show it to her.
- The surgeon came in at some point to explain what he would be doing and he also got very awkward when he had to mention the process of sending something through my penis to do what my body was incapable of doing on its own. He wasn’t flirting with me, though. He was more like, “I’m a dude, telling another dude that I’m gonna get all up in his junk, and that is awkward.” I’m sure he has done thousands of the surgeries, yet he still knew it was awkward as hell to talk about the process.
- Eh. He may have been flirting. What’s good for the gander, and all that jazz.
- I just hit my limit for writing anything else. I hit my wall. That’s all you guys get on this list. And I’ve blabbed enough about these kidney stones, so I hereby plan on saying nothing more about them.
When trying to find the positive side in all of it, I sent some good friends the following texts:
I don’t know what this blog post is, or why I’m sharing it with you all, but you’re welcome.
Now I’m off to crash in peace and pretend I’m not slowly dying over here.
Oh, and daytime nurse… You’ve got my digits. Call me, maybe. You’ve just gotta break some HIPPA laws or something to find me. If your excitement over me making a wee wee was sincere… Do it.
Dan Pearce | The Dan Pearce Blog