So I still have a kidney stone.
I almost made it all the way home pain-free until I didn’t. The last hour of the second flight, I was dying.
Well, not literally. Obviously. I’m still alive. Hello there.
I did make it home (late) where I had left over pain pills from my bone graft surgery so that helped me sleep . . . a little. And when I woke up, I knew there was no way in the world that I could wait until Wednesday for an appointment.
I went to the doctor first thing the next morning and guess what?
Well, first off, there were no prisoners there! So that was a bonus. But he came to the same conclusion. I have a kidney stone.
He gave me two shots. He said they would hurt.
I was all Are you kidding me? You can hit me over the head with a brick for all I care right now, just put me out of my misery! A shot? A shot?! SHOOT ME! GIVE IT TO ME! I’LL DO IT MYSELF! DO IT ALREADY! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? I SAID SHOOT!!! This is a different reaction to the Jamaican doctor giving me a shot which goes to show you that a kidney stone is different from a urinary tract infection.
One of the shots was for pain (Thank the Good Lord) and the other was an antibiotic. And then I got two prescriptions. One is STILL not available. Apparently no pharmacy within a 100 mile radius has it and so I’ve come to the conclusion that it is exactly what I need and the end-all-be-all cure that is alluding me and it is DRIVING ME CRAZY. The pharmacist told me that it would be $30 for only seven little pills! and acted like that was too expensive and wanted to know was I sure I wanted to pay $30 for only seven little pills?
I’m not sure what happened next, but I think it involved me emptying my purse and throwing all of my credit cards at her and telling her I would pay whatever the cost or here’s an even better idea . . . just take my kidney!
I’m not in any pain any longer (thank the Good Lord), but I am spending the majority of my days and nights in the bathroom.
While I was with the doctor, he asked which hospital I visited in New York because he studied there. When I told him, he started laughing.
This was BEFORE I got the shots.
Which means I was not laughing along. Which shows you how much pain I was in because if someone laughs, I want to laugh too, what are you laughing about, what’s so funny, hahahaha, I don’t know why I’m laughing, but this is contagious, that’s hilarious, oh my side hurts.
But I did not laugh along.
The doc said that the hospital I went to in NYC is where they filmed One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Which is about crazy people.
Apparently, it’s a psychiatric hospital. I went to a psychiatric hospital.
This might explain the poor girl who lost her shoe. Maybe she didn’t lose her shoe? She just lost her mind?
So . . .
You know all those times that I’ve joked that I’m a Looney Tune Whackadoodle and just this.close to being committed?