Some warm n’ fuzzy thoughts on a Thursday afternoon (from a doped up Doug)

I know it’s been awhile since my last blog, but this sure wasn’t what I had in mind for my next one.  In a nutshell, I’ve been out of the swing of things for the month of September (feeling glum about stuff in general, that’s all).  And then this past week, I got a real surprise.

After an uneventful day, I’d gone to bed Monday night around midnight or so… an hour or so later I woke up with a start, feeling like someone had just punched me in my right kidney.  Did I injure myself somehow in my sleep?  I got out of bed & paced back & forth, trying to figure out why my right side was on fire, hoping I could “walk it off”.  As it got progressively worse, I knew I was in trouble.  Wishing now I hadn’t done it, I called my sister Shawn at 2:30am to let her know I was preparing to go to the hospital, then I dialed 911.  Five minutes later, I was being strapped into a gurney and being loaded into an ambulance.

I was rushed to UPMC Mercy Hospital (I think my cries of pain speeded that driver along some).  They rolled me into one of their ER cubbyholes & began drawing blood from one arm while inserting an IV drip into the other, peeling off my clothes and taping various heart monitor discs on my chest and legs, all while trying to gather some basic information.  I was feeling pretty special, there must’ve been 5-6 medical people around my bed.  In the doorway stood the two medics who got me there and I heard one say “I bet he has kidney stones.”   (I suspected the same thing, I’ve never experienced this much pain in my life.)

A doctor approached my bedside, said “we need to do a CT scan but first we’re going to make you more comfortable okay?”  She motioned to a nurse and softly said “hydromophone”.  A few minutes later as my head began swimming, and the stabbing pains were reduced to boxing glove punches, I almost wept as I thanked the nurse still with me.  An hour & CT scan later, they told me it was kidney stones.  “Mr. Morris, you should know this isn’t the only one, you have several.  You’re currently dealing with one that’s traveling thru your ureter on it’s way to the bladder.”  um, okay!

I was sent home with a week’s supply of Percocet (Oxycodone), a month’s supply of Flomax (Tamsulosin, to help me pee) & a popcorn-size tub of industrial-strength ibuprofen.  And for the last couple days, I’ve been sitting here in a dopey haze, chugging water and stumbling into the bathroom every hour or so to pee my cares away—and hopefully some rock formations while I’m at it.

(As long as I’m blathering on, I want to thank my friend Elisa, who didn’t flinch when I called her from the hospital at 6:30am & asked if she could take me home.  Along the way, I told her I was going to be sick and she swerved to the side of the road to let me do my business while murmuring “there there… puke your guts out… not on my car… not on my car…”   Haha, thank you Elisa!)

Y‘know, I got away with avoiding doctors and pills and hospitals for the last dozen years, but why do I have a feeling that’s about to end?  The writing’s on the wall.