Watson, our cat, is walking around the house, making his morning announcements. I pry my eyes open, and see that there is the faintest hint of soft, grey light pushing itself against the edges of our bedroom shades.
I don’t feel too tired, surprisingly, and I lie in bed while I decide if I’m going to just go ahead and get up. I have a commitment in the evening, and I’ll probably be really wiped out by the time it’s over, but on the other hand, I won’t be struggling to fall asleep before midnight … unless my brain pulls the same bullshit it’s been pulling for weeks.
The next thing I know, the sun is blazing through the windows and I can hear Anne. She doesn’t sound good. She’s breathing heavily and making sounds like she’s in pain. So I get out of bed, and I’m in the other room before I’m fully awake. She’s clutching her side and writhing in pain.
“Something’s wrong,” she says. “I need you to take me to the emergency room.”
That’s all it takes for my brain to throw off any lingering sleepiness. Before I realize it, I’m dressed and ready to leave. We drive to the emergency room, and she’s in so much pain now that she can’t stand up. She tells me that her hands are getting numb and she feels like she’s going to pass out. The ER receptionist doesn’t seem to think any of this is serious, and barks at me to sit down and wait.
I know that everyone who comes into the ER is certain that they have the worst thing that’s ever happened, and I know that it gets tiring for the receptionist. I also believe that if you can’t be compassionate and patient, maybe it’s not the best job for you to have. I also know that there’s no point in having an argument right now, and my energy is better spent trying to help my increasingly panicking wife.
So another hospital guy comes over and asks what’s going on. I tell him, and he calmly listens. He tells Anne that she’s going to be okay, and he’ll get her into triage as quickly as possible.
There, I think, that wasn’t so hard.
Time takes on the strange malleability that comes with intense stress. It slows down and speeds up and doesn’t seem to move at the fixed rate I’ve come to expect from a lifetime of existence. After some amount of time that isn’t as long as I think it is, but not fast enough for me, we are in triage. The nurse is gentle and compassionate. She asks Anne lots of questions while I sit quietly and try to stay out of the way. They take her vitals. She has no fever, but her pulse is as high as you’d expect.
We are moved into a room, and they put her in a bed. She’s crying harder than I’ve seen in over twenty years together. I remember the last time we were in this ER, our roles reversed. I vaguely recall that Anne remained calm, and it helped me, so I do my best to do the same.
A nurse puts a needle into her arm and draws blood. Another nurse comes in and puts some morphine into her. It doesn’t help, so they give her more. That helps a little bit, but it’s still not enough. They can’t do anything else until a doctor gives the okay, and someone has just come into the ER who is in a more life-threatening situation, so we wait.
More time passes, and a doctor comes in. He gives her all the same tests she’s already been given. She continues to endure the worst pain I’ve ever witnessed in our twenty-plus years together. “This is worse than both times I gave birth,” she says, trying to make a joke to the doctor, but the clear agony in her voice claws at my heart. She’s suffering and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Finally, the doctor orders some more morphine, and now time becomes very clear because I count each of the twenty-seven minutes she waits until someone brings it in for her. I know that she isn’t in life-threatening danger, and we both know that the ER is very busy, but our emotional brains and our rational brains are experiencing that knowledge in very different ways.
She gets another push of morphine. The nurse tells us that once the morphine starts to work, they’re going to get a urine sample and then do a CT scan. Another twenty minutes goes by, because everything happens in twenty minute increments when you’re in pain but not in danger. They take her to get a CT scan, and I walk out to find something to eat.
It’s a beautiful day. It’s one of the most beautiful days we’ve had in a long time, sunny but not too hot. We had planned to spend it working in the patio garden, and building a window box for our front porch that will get filled with sunflowers. I walk up the street and into a cafe, where I get a coffee and a sandwich. A lady behind me is impatient. She has the voice and body language of someone whose experience at the hospital is not as routine as ours is. I pay as fast as I can so I can get out of her way, and I silently wish her well. I get my sandwich and my coffee. Neither is as good as what I’d make at home, but I don’t complain. I remember the lady behind me, the people in the ER who have sick babies, the woman the ambulance brought in who had a stroke, and doesn’t know her name or where she is. Her adult daughter, who is more tired and sad than worried.
I finish my sandwich on my way back to Anne’s room. She isn’t there when I sit down. I open my phone and start reading a book I’ve been wanting to read. Another twenty minutes goes by and they bring her back in. The meds are working, and she has her humor back. She isn’t as pale. She looks like my wife again. We wait for an hour (three blocks of twenty minutes) for the test results. Patients fill up the hallway, and we’re grateful that we have a room with just one bed in it. A woman in the room next to us can’t stop throwing up. Someone at the nurse’s station has an alert on their phone that sounds like the Hanna-Barbera running in place effect when they get an alert, and they seem to be getting one about every thirty seconds or so. A nursery rhyme tune plays in all the overhead speakers, because someone has just given birth. I email the people I’m supposed to be working with in three hours and tell them I have to cancel because I’m spending the entire day in the emergency room.
Anne drifts in and out of sleep, and I read until my battery dies. The doctor comes in and tells her that there isn’t anything on the CT scan, or the MRI, and that her blood and urine are all clear and normal. She’s presenting all the symptoms of someone who has a kidney stone, but they can’t find anything in her tests to confirm it. Apparently, this happens in thirty percent of cases. That seems like a lot of percent, I say. The doctor is not amused. I shut up and try to disappear again.
They give her more pain meds because we’ve been there so long, the first two doses are wearing off. We have to wait another hour, and then we can go home. I get my notebook out and break a story that I’ve been thinking about for awhile. I get up and walk around a little bit. I begin to worry about my wife, because she’s clearly having a problem, clearly in distress, clearly in all kinds of pain, and the doctors and nurses can’t tell us, definitively, why. I decide that she’s suffering because of a small dwarf, or spirit, living in her stomach. I am not amused. I get a brain zap, and realize that I forgot to take my antidepressants before we left, and I have just about ninety minutes (twenty times four plus half of twenty minutes) before the dizziness, nausea, and other fun withdrawal starts. I don’t tell this to Anne, because she doesn’t need another thing to worry about.
An hour later, we get ourselves together so we can leave. A lady I haven’t seen before wheels in a computer and tells us we have a co-payment. She’s friendly, but all business, very different from the rest of the staff. I pay her. She gives me a receipt and I tuck it into a folder that we’re to take to our doctor within three days if Anne doesn’t improve. Neither of us knows that we’ll be at the doctor in less than 24 hours, because she won’t be better.
Anne leans on me as we walk out of the room. I’m ready to get home, eat some real food, and take my brain pills. Sounds are starting to feel louder than they are, like they’re echoing down long metal tubes. I’m going to have a headache soon. In the next room over, the vomiting lady is asleep, the stroke lady is holding her daughter’s hand. Down the all, a little boy who broke his arm is looking at his cast over tear-stained cheeks. A guy about my age who looks beaten up is in a gurney near the end of the hallway. There are two cops standing next to his bed. “I think I’m going to throw up,” Anne says. I try to find her a barf bag, give up, and ask a nurse for help.
The nurse brings her a bag, and Anne sits down in a wheelchair that is luckily next to her. The nurse is kind. She gets Anne some medication that helps with nausea. She doesn’t vomit. We both thank her, and I wheel Anne out into the parking lot. The sun is on its way down the western sky, the hospital casts a long shadow over the parking lot. I help Anne into the car and take the wheelchair back to the entrance, where an orderly takes it from me.
We get home. The dogs are on alert when we walk into the house. They can tell that something’s wrong with their Alpha Female. The sniff at her, follow her back to our bedroom, lie down at the foot of our bed when she gets into it. They don’t move until it’s time for them to eat, later, and then they go right back to where they were.
I am grateful to be home, and remind myself that we didn’t have it nearly as bad as some of the people around us today … but the worry that something more serious is going on with the most important person in my life, something that I can’t do anything about, something that I can’t identify … that worry begins to really flare up. It will continue — is happening right now, 36 hours later — and there’s nothing I can do about it but hope for the best. I take my pills, and twenty minutes later my brain is more or less back to what passes for normal in my skull. I go to the pharmacy and fill her prescriptions. I get her some soup. I come home. I make myself a basic dinner and give her canned soup because that’s what she wants when she doesn’t feel well.
I eat my food, and try to watch TV, but I can’t really focus on much of anything. I try to read more of the book I started, but I realize that I’ve gone through several pages without paying attention. I tap around on a mobile game until midnight. I wake Anne up to give her more pain pills, and then I go to sleep, myself.
It is 9am, and she’s in bad shape. We call the doctor for a 1045 appointment, which I cancel at 10 when she can’t get out of bed because she hurts so much. I finally take her at 2pm, and the doctor tells us the same thing the ER doctor told us: he doesn’t know what’s going on, but it doesn’t seem to be more serious than a kidney stone. All she can do is manage the pain and wait for the stone to pass, if that’s actually what it is. Here’s a pile of pills to try. Good luck. I am not satisfied, and want to know more, but he doesn’t have any more answers. At least he doesn’t seem concerned, so I do my best to put my trust in his professional knowledge. It doesn’t work as completely as I hope, sort of like the meds they’ve been giving Anne.
I take her home, go and fill more prescriptions, and give her more pills when I return, hoping one of them will work.
The twenty minutes I wait to find out if she’s feeling any relief seems to stretch out forever, so I sit down and write out the last 36 or so hours, because that’s how I process things.
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Oh, you guys! I’ve had to make that drive to the ER with a partner who was in so much pain she couldn’t stand up straight, who made a joke through clenched teeth that the pain was worse than childbirth, who was screaming in pain so loudly, they wouldn’t let our daughter and me go back to see her until the morphine had kicked in. In her case, it was kidney stones (which a walk-in clinic had incorrectly diagnosed as a UTI, so she’d already spent the better part of a month on antibiotics it turned out she didn’t need, wishing she felt better but only getting worse).
Sending Anne all the good energy I can and sending you good energy, too. Love you both!
Good wishes beaming your way from Omaha…~~~~~
I’m so sorry, I know how much that sucks, for her and for you. This doesn’t help right now, but I recommend having a ‘go bag’ for the hospital. Things to make life not quiet so sucky, including a spare charger. Beyond that, I hope she starts feeling better soon.
Warm thoughts to you both, and I hope Anne gets better quickly.
I can empathize with all of this. Especially the minutes that tick by. In the ER with a loved one, time definitely takes on its own Dali-esque sense of being.
Sending positive vibes Anne’s way, and yours, too. Hope she’s feeling better soon.
I hope Anne is better soon.
I hope you will both soon be able to have more answers, and some relief, too. I’m so sorry this is happening. You are doing a great job helping her in the ways that you can. – Cat, RN
I’m so sorry. Kidney stones suck.
Kidney stones suck. I used to toss them like a pen dispenser. I hope Anne feels better soon.
Yeah, as soon as I read greatest pain of all time my mind immediately went to kidney stones. This read step-for-step as my own bout with kidney stones – worst pain ever. A friend of mine told me once she’d rather go through having all 4 of her kids again except at the same time than kidney stones. When I had them they hit me with 5 doses of morphine the first night and I barely felt it. And I’ve never passed mine – they’re still sitting in my bladder like time bombs waiting to go.
Sincere best wishes to Anne, hoping her pain leaves as quickly as it arrives. No illness is welcome but mystery illnesses … well, they’re quite another matter. Take care of yourself, too! There’s lots of us out here pulling for you both.
Oh my! I do hope Anne gets better soon, and I am sending her healing vibes. I have never had kidney stones, and only know one person who has, and he went to the error because he thought he was going to diron b/c the pain was so bad. He is totally fine now and didn’t even come close to to that door. All the best for her, and for you. How scary!
It’s terrifying when our partners are in pain without a certain cause, that helpless feeling is horrid. I know you’ll get through it, Anne’s tough and you’re stronger than that stupid brain lets you believe you are.
And for what it’s worth, you have lots strangers out on the internet who care for you both and are thinking their best thoughts for you tonight.
Wishing both of you the best. I’ve been there on both sides. Non-bubble-violating hugs your way.
Why didn’t they do an ultrasound? That’s a great way to examine the kidney and urinary tract.
I’m no doctor, but I have been through this same scenario with my wife. I’d like to make a simple recommendation. Grab a bluetooth speaker. Whichever one you have with the best capability for bass. Wrap it in a dry washcloth or warm towel, and have her place it where it hurts while using something like http://www.szynalski.com/tone-generator/ at between 40-60Hz. Adjust to the best comfort level. It can potentially break up the stones, but more likely will just provide some comfort as it helps the stone work its way through. Of course check with your doctor if you are unsure, but my own doctor found this a clever and effective home remedy when I mentioned it.
I know that feeling of helplessness and anxiety all too well, as I was with my mom in the ER when she had a massive stroke. These are moments you know are possible but can never possibly prepare yourself for, which makes it even more overwhelming. I know you’re worried and feeling helpless, but you’re doing great. I promise.
Lots of love to you both, and healing thoughts to Anne!
Been there. Done that. Got the full-on hospital anti-heartburn treatment because I was eight and a half months pregnant, so it must be heartburn. There is no heartburn on this earth that feels like a kidney stone. They sent me home with recommendation to take ibuprofen and ride it out. I am so so sorry this has happened to Anne. And to you. It will end, at some unknown point it will be over and part of the past.
Sorry. Sorry. Hang in there.
Any emergency room experience is horrible. I’m thinking good thoughts that this all gets better for Anne and your family soon.
Keep her full of water and peeing, and vit C tablets. It will help break up the stone and pass easier and quicker. I had one, it was horrible. Fast forward 30 years, I’m a witch with a firm belief in modern medicine, and that it can be assisted with some old fashioned methods. We did it with a friend last year, along with some hands on healing/stone breaking (no need to believe in it), and we got her stones broken up and passing in a day or so. But yes, ER sucks, kidney stones hurt as bad as natural child birth, and you handled it all very well. Good job, husband.
I’m so sorry Anne is having to go through that and that as a bystander all you can do is watch and try to help manage the pain. I hope this ends soon for you guys and you never have to deal with it again. Stay strong, get lots of rest if you can.
My sister suffers from kidney stones and had an attack so suddenly about a month ago, that she barely got her car pulled over, the pain and vomiting hit out of nowhere. It’s hard to watch those we love be in pain that we can’t fix. Good vibes to you and yours.
Love and prayers
I had surgery to remove a kidney stone. I spent an entire day sobbing on my livingroom carpet, feeling like I was being stabbed and they were twisting the knife around and it burned like the knife was held to the fire first. Until finally a friend came over and drove me to emergency and the ct showed it was a stone. Worst pain ever.
I hope that if it is a stone that it passes quickly. Hugs Anne.
I feel so much for you both. Anne for enduring such physical pain and you for having to deal with all the emotions of seeing her that way. I hope that soon she is feeling better and that your anxiety can return to a lower rung of existence. From my distant internet connection to your world, I have noted that you and Anne have always taken marvellous care of one another. I’m sure once this is all over and she is feeling better, these hours will be another testament to that. Sending positivity from Canada for you guys.
My partner and myself went through the same thing in March but the nurses screwed up tests and what nots. She had to stay in for the week and they still didn’t know any better. It was hell.
Hope Anne gets better soon and you both take care.
Dude, that sucks. If she doesn’t get better take her to Cedar’s. Sending warmth from MN
I’ve had to do the same thing with my husband, the only difference is he’s prone to them and knew exactly what the problem was. He literally crawled into the ER (freaked out the security guards) at 5am the last time it happened. Positive vibes to the both of you…
Oh god, Wil. I have been there. I am so so sorry. I’m lighting candles for you both.
Mine was gall bladder. I told the ER guys, who acted like I was a drug seeking junkie, that I had experienced pain like this twice. “And they have names!” Took three tries to get a real answer.
This sounds EXACTLY like when I had my kidney stone. Only I had a ruptured ovarian cyst at the same exact time and it took them FOREVER to find out what was wrong. I have never cried when I’m in pain until that night. It is forever seared into my brain. It’s also the night I found out I am immune to morphine. It simply doesn’t do anything for some people. After two shots of morphine, the nurses were baffled I didn’t feel better. A shot of dilauded took the edge off. I was lucky I passed the stone in the hospital. The best way I can describe it is taking a large piece of broken glass. Like from a glass Coca Cola bottle. And letting it float around your body. You feel like your insides are being cut. It’s worse than giving birth.
My thoughts are with Anne as I wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone. She’s right to listen to her body and her inner voice. I hope she feels better soon. ❤️
Oh my! My wife just had to go to the doctor because she had some contractions, she is only at the end of her 2nd trimester. Apparently its not uncommon but it scared the shirt out of me, and I had just got to work 3hrs away. I let my boss know what was going on and he was ok with me leaving, and a friend took my wife to the doctor. Long story short, she is fine, just some pelvic rest, but that 3hr drive was very stressful.
Take care of her and yourself!
I’ve been passing kidney stones since I was a little girl and there is no pain like it. I had one stone that took a week to pass. Sometimes it would show up on the CT scan, other times it didn’t. Just make sure to watch for signs of an infection. Kidney stones can lead to kidney infections when they get stuck and that can be dangerous. All my love to you and your wife. I know the pain and fear all too well of the dreaded stones.
I’ve had those invisible kidney stones. It’s terrible. I passed one during the second Lord of the Rings movie.
Your reach is far and wide, and those of us who look up to you are looking after you now.
I’m so sorry this is happening. I got a call from my dad a few months ago that he was in the ER for this. It took him almost a week to pass the stone. I’m sure the doctors told you this already, but ibuprofen helps with the pain and the inflammation in Anne’s plumbing, so if she can take it, do it. (Lots of water, too, though that’s even more obvious.) It’s tough to see your loved one in pain and not be able to do anything about it. For both your sakes, I hope she feels better soon.
“and I LIE in bed” (not “lay in bed”) – you’re using the present tense there (lie/lay/lain for people, i.e., as the subject; lay/laid/laid for objects). It was probably a small newt or toad living in her stomach. — Theodoric of York, Medieval Barber
Oh, hey! I see you like giving people editorial advice. Let me also offer some — This content is misplaced and disrupts the narrative. I lose sympathy with your character because the focus on grammar demonstrates a lack of empathy. You might consider revising this, or just cutting it all together.
THANK YOU! (See also, Craig Ferguson’s “Does this need to be said? Does this need to be said by me? Does this need to be said now by me now?”)
English is hard.
I completely understand that his is going to sound somewhat ridiculous but here it is. This is the nutty treatment my mother suggested when I started having kidney stones years ago and I swear by all that is good and holy it has repeatedly worked for me. Run the hottest bath Anne can stand to sit in. Then have her drink as much beer as she can stand. (Obviously not to the brink of alcohol poisoning.. be sensible) Don’t rush. Drink slowly. but drink until she has to urinate then drink some more. Add hot water as necessary and keep at it. I ran it by my doctor and he said it made a certain amount of sense as the temperature and alcohol would promote capillary dilation and neprhon expansion at the same time. The only problem here is of course taking stupid home remedy medical advice from someone on the internet….Anyway.. good luck to Anne.
It is amazing to me that you can write so eloquently and even humourously when under such duress. All my love to you and Anne.
Love, strength, and healing from a friend you’ll never meet, but cares.
I was just noticing earlier today that I often see my life in fifteen or twenty minute increments. Twenty minutes to break. Fifteen minute break. Fifteen minutes until the meeting. Twenty minutes ago the meeting was supposed to be over. Twenty minutes before I can head home. Takes about fifteen or twenty minutes to get to the restaurant. Another twenty to eat. Another twenty minutes of traffic to the pharmacy. Another twenty.. and another. Time’s just ticking by until I get to the next twenty. Not complaining. It’s just where I am now. Where i been.. Then I see this.
Let me try to put it this way, Wil. About twenty years ago I had a woman in my life who was the most important person to me, and we sat in a room with a doctor and they didn’t know what was wrong with her. She’s in great pain. It comes and goes. They can’t find anything in the tests. This has been going on for awhile but I’m trying to give you the condensed version. They think maybe multiple sclerosis or ankylosing spondylitis or fibromyalgia, but all the tests come back negative. The doctors get to the point of talking now about her seeing a shrink. They think she’s imagining the pain.
Man it’s like I’m right back in that room now and I stand up and shout at the doctor that “I want my wife back!” She’s sitting right there. I look back at her. “I didn’t mean..” I look in myself. I wish I could turn invisible. That was a long time ago now. Lotsa twenties since then.
My point is, she’s still there. The most important person in your life. To worry and fret and feel for. If you still can when you read this, just be there with the most important girl in your life in that twenty you’re in right now. Cuz she’s there. Hug her if it doesn’t hurt. Hold her hand if that’s better. Make her more soup. Just. Y’know. Be in that moment. Be in that twenty. While there are still twenties with her to be in. If I could, I’d sit where you are for a twenty and you could take my next twenty. Although, y’know. I’d probably mess your twenty up. You’re doing fine. I miss the girl who used to be the most important thing in my life. I could do twenty minutes of that again. Feel that pain and worry. I wish she was here to worry about. She got better by the way. Moved on. Guess I didn’t.
I been where you are now, and I didn’t handle it as well as you did. I sucked at it. You’re kicking ass. I guess I’m hoping you take solace in that. You’re already being there for her, and that makes you a hero to me. Just don’t forget it’s about her. It’s not about how you feel. I wish I knew that then. I wish I wasn’t so selfish. You got the right attitude. You’re stronger than you know.
Holy crap, Wil. Please give Anne my best.
I’ve had a kidney stone – mercifully it passed into my bladder in a matter of hours – and it was quite literally the worst pain I’ve ever been in (and I’ve broken bones).
I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy, and I’m so sorry that Anne has had to deal with it for so much longer. My thoughts and prayers are with you both.
I concur with the description of the pain- I have had a tooth abscess, given birth twice, and nothing equals the excruciating pain of passing a kidney stone. They couldn’t find my kidney stones with tests either, but I was uninsured so tests were minimal. The good news is once it passes, it is immediate relief from the worst of the pain- at least it was for me. I hope it resolves and she feels better soon! Much love to Anne! And take care of yourself too.
I’m sending my well-wishes Anne’s way! I’ve been there — except for me, it turned out to be a 9-day stay in the hospital after an emergency hysterectomy. Here’s hoping it isn’t anything more than a kidney stone. They suck, and aside from taking some pain killers, there’s just nothing you can do about them. They’re not life-threatening, but that doesn’t make them feel better. I hope it all clears up quickly for her!
I hope she will get better Wil. Best wishes from Budapest, Hungary.
I went to the ER with similar sounding symptoms – The pain was getting so severe that at one point I was certain I had just felt my organs explode inside my body… I was diagnosed with a symptom-less bladder infection that was already moving into my kidneys. I hope Anne is doing and feeling better SOON!
I sincerely hope she feels better, and that you can relax enough to get some rest when she does. My husband gets kidney stones, and the panic and fear you feel as you watch the person you love more than anything writhe in pain is horrible. Definitely gives a new meaning for feeling helpless. Good luck to you both and I hope you get definitive answers soon
Ouch. My very best to Anne. I’ve had a kidney stone. Not fun. They couldn’t find mine on the CT scan, either.
She’s got you, though, and that’s a big plus.
May it pass quickly and without issue.
Your friends, Jim and Kim
Thanks, Jim. How’s Kim?
Doing well! The shoulder’s coming back — she’s into the “building strength and improving flexibility” part of the PT cycle now. The other thing is mostly stable, but we’re watching how the Houston heat affects her as we rush headlong into summer. It’s gonna be all right: we have the technology and the attitude. Thanks for asking!
My roommate is my best friend, and she has a chronic illness. I’ve spent many sleepless nights in emergency rooms, seen many similar doctors and bitchy nurses and felt the weirdly antiseptic air in so many holding areas. When I have nightmares now, they always start in hospitals. Without fail.
I hope Anne is feeling better by now. And I mean “better,” not “back to normal” the way so many do. I hope you’re feeling less brain yuck, too. While it isn’t physical pain, I hate the brain yuck because it means I’m not at my best. You seem like a similar type. Be well, both of you.