The sore in the stone

Ok, here's a question. What do you give the woman who's been dragging her way through every cold to be found in Alberta in the last couple of months but was finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel?

How about a pain?

How about a very specific, recognisable pain somewhat above the right hip?

How about a pain that will indicate to that particular woman that the next few days are NOT going to be fun?

Let's set the stage here. I've only been whining about being sick for how long now? Thursday I woke up with a bit of a cough but a clearer head than I'd had in a while. It seemed like it was going to be a decent day. Cough, yes, and a sore muscle on my right side but I probably just slept crooked and... oh. Wait. That's not a sore muscle. And it's getting worse. And I remember that pain from the last time I was... wait for it... in the emergency room passing a kidney stone.

Yep.

Just when you think it's safe to go back in the water.

Erm, so to speak.

Now, if I'd been typing this a couple of days ago you would have got MASSIVE detail about the fun of kidney stones, but I've decided not to venture that far into TMI-land after all. Let's just say that they hurt, weird things happen to your body, and I'm glad I only have to go through this about once every decade or so.

If anyone out there who hasn't been through the fun of passing a stone seriously wants more details, e-mail me. I'm more than happy to go on and on and on about it.

So my Thursday was... not a good day. In a fit of I'm-not-sure-whatitude I decided not to go to the hospital because they would have done a battery of tests to tell me what I already knew, and the last time I went through this I was told that if it happened again and I knew for sure that it was a stone (and trust me. You know.) that I didn't have to go to the hospital unless things didn't seem to be moving. Fair enough. Except that hospitals have one thing that my apartment doesn't.

Pain killers stronger than aspirin, I mean.

Holy cow (and boy, is that an edited euphemism) was Thursday not a good day.

Anyway. I lived. I still occasionally feel like my insides are being prodded with a fork so things aren't quite done with yet, but they're getting there.

My cold, on the other hand, currently seems to be intent on making my body produce enough mucous to fit the needs of every single person in Western Canada...





At some point someone's just GOT to offer to put me out of my misery once and for all, right? I'm the first to admit that this is all getting a little too ridiculous.