One week to the day, there was pain. Not shoulder pain. Gut pain. Right side gut pain. Prolonged, steady, middlin’ to severe, won’t move, nothing helps, not even vomiting. Three times. Appendicitis. Maybe. Not. Ambulance ride, $850.00 Yup. A grand to take an ambulance to the ER. Lucky, heh, it turned out to be real. Renal infarction. Death of kidney. In my case partial. As soon as that morphine hit all my troubles went away. Is that what Obama meant when he said, “instead of surgery, take a pill?” Hmmm. Maybe he’s on to something. The bastard.
The worst part of three days in the hospital was having to give up all that blood from veins about the size of human hairs and buried. And I gave up a lot of it. Every day, twice a day. Vials and vials of it. The next worst part was waiting for them to come get me and wheel me down to this or that room for tests. Heart tests, kidney tests, aorta, artery and stuff I can’t even pronounce tests. CTs, ultrasounds, and something called a TEE, the grand finale it was, the one I dreaded most and turned out to be, thank goodness, easy.
My doctors were brave. They wanted to cry, I think, but held back their tears when, time after time, I disappointed each and every one by testing normal and negative with everything. EVERYTHING. They tested me for every possible clot disorder known to man because they knew that somewhere in my vast circulatory system is floating some junk that lodged in a vein/artery of that kidney and choked off twenty percent of it. Even that did not affect the function of that kidney one iota. Well, take that, modern medicine.
Then, after three days of testing that never paid off and much, much head scratching, and unable to justify putting me on a lifetime of blood thinners, thank you, God, they had to, reluctantly, but could not refuse to, release me.
And that was that. And remains that. And that is all I want to say about it. For now.