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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Thinking of you and Anne and hoping she finds relief. I had pain like that a number of years back and it was a gynecological thing (she says online to someone she doesn’t know). I hope they give her a thorough check before just waiting for a stone that might not be there. I felt like I was being stabbed. Blessings to you both!
Yes, this. I’ve had many kidney stones, and many ovarian cysts, and the ovarian cysts were far more pain and WILL NOT show up on a CT scan! Kidney stones may not show up on a regular KUB x-ray, but they absolutely SHOULD show up on a CT scan.
I hope Anne feels better quickly so you too can feel better – worrying about your lived one can be debilitating. Take care of yourself.
Sending love and light
Hope Anne feels better soon Wil. Kind thoughts and best wishes to you both. Been down the long Kidney stone road a couple of times. Most excruciating pain I’ve ever experienced. Wouldn’t even wish it on DJT! 😁
Yikes. I hope she feels better soon. Very well written. Please write an update soon, preferably with her rebounding beautifully, all smiles, and working on the sunflower plants. 🌻
My heart goes out to you both. Hoping Anne is feeling much better soon.
I send Anne and you prayers for healing and comfort. This is so scary. Doctors are not perfect and sometimes need to be pushed. I know you are a great comfort and blessing to Anne.
Best of luck!
Feeling helpless when someone you love is in pain is awful; you did a great job of keeper Nguyen calm and staying compassionate for the others you encountered. Best wishes to Anne for a speedy recovery.
Stupid auto correct: “keeping calm” . :-/
Kidney stones are the worst. A tiny minuscule mineralized stone that is all jagged with sharp edges, scraping and cutting its way down a tube about the same diameter of the stone. The best thing to do is wait it out unfortunately. Exactly what you don’t want to hear because it feels like s lifetime. But you’re doing you’re best by loving Anne and she knows and feels it. Keep her close, hold her tight and this will be over soon.
Best wishes to Anne
Best wishes to you both. Hope Anne feels better quickly.
Please let us know how it goes!
Both of you hang in there. Wil, pack yourself a go bag – meds, whatever else you can think of. Don’t want both of you being sick. Remember to throw all of Anne’s meds in the bag if you head to the hospital – trying to remember names & dosages is extra stress you don’t need…
I watched my man go thru this. Worst pain he ever felt. Good idea to push the fluids and the lemon water sounds like a good idea too. Much love to u guys and I hope she gets better soon. Please keeps us posted. Take care 💖💖💖💖
Oh my goodness! I hope Anne feels better! I totally feel for her. I’ve gotten 4cm stones before that took 5 lithotripsies to break up. 😲 But the stones only have to be the size of a grain of sand to bring a grown man down. They usually use ultrasound on me to find & measure them. I hope they figure things out for you guys!
Jeez Chrizzy, this sounds very like what I just went through with my right ovary. The immense pain, and SO MUCH TIME BETWEEN MORPHINE, and the ‘no really, can ANYONE just tell me exactly what’s wrong and fix it?’ I was lucky, it got taken care of quickly. I am so sorry Anne is in pain and I’m sorry you can’t help her and I send so much love and hope and healing and hugs (to you because I bet Anne does NOT want to be hugged right now) to the both of you. This is the suckiest of sucky things and I’m sorry she’s going through it. I hope they can help her soon and she will soon have less pain (I wish her no pain, but that’s not how these things work, unfortunately, so less pain is all one can hope for at this point).
I saw on Twitter that it wasn’t a kidney stone, but an ovarian torsion and that surgery has Anne feeling better.
Glad it was figured out (sorry that it took a while) and I hope Anne makes a speedy recovery now that the ugly has been removed.
Gentle hugs to you both.
I really hope your wife feels better soon. I am going through illness and hospitalization with my wife with little idea on what is happening with her. I know that this is hard, I’m pulling for you man, cause while I don’t know you outside of being a fan, you are a solid good strong dude that will get through this.
It sounds exactly like the pain I experienced 6 years ago. My doctors at the hospital too thought it would be kidney stones and I got pain relief medications. But the pain never subdued and even intensified, and nearly 2 months later – spending a most of the time in my bed (thankfully my husband was able to look after our daughter at that time) another doctor suggested an echo might help to determine the size of stones more precisely and if and which further treatment would be neccessary. So I got an echo that revealed I didn’t have kidney stones but two large cysts, one in each ovary. Nearly 4 weeks later I would receive laparoscopic surgery to remove the cysts. During the procedure the surgeon noticed I also had many spots of endometriosis in my abdomen and they made a larger incision to remove both cysts and the endometriosis tissue. When I got home after two days just the cut hurt a bit, but the excruciating pain I had before was gone.
Likely Anne’s doctors ruled out cysts or endometriosis but if they haven’t considered it yet you might inquire after it.
I hope Anne feels better very soon.
Good luck Anne, and hope your doing okay too Wil. I hope that she is perhaps feeling better now, but either wau, get well soon and take care of yourselves.
Antidepressant withdrawal is the worst! Yes having a kidney stone pass hurt worse than giving birth naturally. I hope your wife is better soon.
Hope, well-wishes, and concerned thoughts for you and Anne. Undiagnosed pain and symptoms just really suck ass. I hope she is already on the way to a full recovery.
I hope Anne feels better soon Wil – thinking of you guys and hoping for a speedy recovery.
Lots of heating pads and fluids. A very warm bath help. The person in pain doesn’t want to move, but unfortunately it doesn’t help. This happened to my daughter. There is a genetic component to this problem (isn’t there always) which I learned when my daughter came down with this problem which runs through my husband’s family. No more advice, i just hope she is fine as I type this.
I’m so so sorry this is happening to her. And super glad she has you to get through this. Sending yall positive vibes, good thoughts, and all of that.
I sure hope Anne feels better quickly. You are both lucky to have one another. Hugs to both of you.
Honestly, I’m jealous. She got medication and a bed. When I had my kidney stone, it was midnight, there were no beds left in the ER, and I had to pace around for 6 solid hours because it hurt too much to sit down. My BF had to periodically stop me from smashing my head against the walls to get some different source of pain to concentrate on. The only meds I got was one shot at 12:15 that at least get me to stop screamcrying and constantly vomiting (dry heaving at that point) from the pain. Otherwise, nada. It was 6am before a doc even saw me and they could do CT scans and determine wtf was even happening.
I think once they determine it’s a kidney stone, you’re put on the “not that important” list, because the stone is gonna come out on its own time. Who knows. Gawd it sucked.
There’s a point where I think it sucks even more for the supporter. It’s so hard to see a loved one in pain. When you’re experiencing the pain, you can’t concentrate on anything else, you’re just living it. But being helpless against someone else’s travails is gutwrenching. Props to you, man.
I hope she is feeling g better! I had a kidney stone “shaped like an arrow head with jagged edges” At first it felt like a UTI, then WHAM! I thought I’d been shot. And yeah, it hurt more than natural childbirth, and yeah, I hyperventilate myself into going numb from head to toe. And yeah, I’m still here to type this story to you.
It was the worst pain ever in my life. And I lived. And now I drink buckets of water all the time because I never want to do that again ever.
I hope up is up and about soon so you can both relax some.
Sending healing vibes from Colorado.
Good on you for remembering to take care of yourself while you’re taking care of Anne. It’s easy to forget, even when those ‘brain shocks’ start kicking in when we’ve forgotten the brain pills — ‘I’ll get them in a minute’ and that minute keeps getting put off. Thinking good thoughts for you both, as well as the pack that’s also helping take care of her.
Coming in a day late; hope Anne is feeling better (and you as well).
If she has had internal surgery of a certain type, as women of a certain age have, (Anne’s a beautiful woman, but not a teenager – nor is my wife – which is how I learned what I’m about to say) sometimes polyps can form as part of the scar tissue on the internal sutures. when those polyps burst, it is painful in a hard, dull and nauseating way — like someone hit you in the side with a bat. There is pain, shortness of breath due to pain making it difficult to get a full breath, and waves of nausea. I’m not a doctor – just am passing this on to you as a datum. If she has had a full or partial hysterectomy, evidently there can be post-surgery events like this for several years afterward. We’ve had two. One was mild and mostly nausea with some pains that felt like cramps. One was… well… it sounds exactly like what you’re describing. Brutal hard dull pain and nausea and no one knows why.
I’m sorry you two are going through this. Watching your wife endure pain without knowing what it is or how you or anyone else can help, is a profoundly stressful and difficult situation.
My best thoughts go with her.
I am so sorry for Anne’s pain. I had a kidney stone and it hurt worse than ovarian cyst, endometriosis, and I have heard it is the only pain that is worse than childbirth. It took several doses of some pretty crazy powerful painkillers to even touch the pain. It sucks. Bad. But I hope she will be ok. Good thoughts and energy to both of you.
I hope Anne is improving. I hope you are doing ok. The symptoms sound similar to my mum when she had pancreatitis. They first thought it was kidney stones too.
Just saw the news that they found out what was wrong. I am sorry this is happening, but glad she can start on the road to recovery.
I hope Anne feels better soon and that the doctors can figure out what is causing her pain. Best wishes.
Good luck with everything. I don’t know if you two can manage it at the moment, but I read a study that said roller coaster rides help pass kidney stones.
Also my best wishes to your wife. Hope she feels better by now.
Anne has all my sympathy. I’ve had a couple of kidney stones. It was the worst pain imaginable. Thought I was dying. And then eventually it stopped, like someone had turned off a switch. Hope her pain turns off soon.
Facebook has just told me my kidney stone was 8 years ago today.
As a disabled chronic pain sufferer myself and ex carer to my disabled chronic pain suffering mom, my condolences I know that warped sense of time and it’s so fucking strange
If it’s causing her pain in her back might I recommend some topical gels I mean obv check with the doctor but ibuprofen gel (not sure of the American equivalent) directly on the muscles that are the worst honestly helps take some of the pain away, while her body is dealing with whatever else it needs to…
Would also recommend either heat or cold patches whichever Anne prefers again to get rid of minor symptoms while her body does the heavy lifting as it were.
Best of luck Wil im so sorry you have to go through this I know what it’s like to watch someone you love in pain but you are not alone. Most important thing for you to do is continue to look after yourself as best you can so that you can properly look after Anne…
All the love and good vibes your way
Be well Ms Anne and a hug for Wil
I had an incredibly similar thing happen to me about a year ago. I was taking a shower and started feeling a slight pain in my back. That pain quickly escalated to the point I couldn’t lift my leg without wincing. I had recently had surgery in my abdomen so I was on high alert. I shook my husband awake, told him something wasn’t right, and by the time we made it to the ER I was crying from the pain. I couldn’t find a comfortable position to sit. I was convinced I had a stone. Tests were run and all signs pointed to a plain old infection. The big difference in my case is that while I waited and waited in the ER, the pain just ‘melted away’ after an hour. It was the weirdest thing. After it happened to me again, I didn’t go to the ER, but scheduled an appointment with a Urologist and was told the same thing, just an infection. Overall I had 3 flare ups of pain where I writhed in pain for an hour before it went away. I would drink as much water as I could to flush my system. I went on 6 weeks of antibiotics and have been pain free now for 2 months I believe.
I hope everything works out!
Hang in there. I hope Anne feels better soon.
I had debilitating pain on my right side and it turned out to be stones in my Gall Bladder, not kidney. It was bad enough to cause my fight or flight instinct to kick in. I had a cholicystectomy and rarely have manageable flare ups now. http://www.webmd.com/digestive-disorders/gallstones
Hope whatever it is clears up. Salud.
Best wishes to you and Anne for her speedy recovery.
I’ve had friends with kidney stones, and they say it’s the most painful thing they’ve endured. One friend posted for remedies, and the recurring two were drink tons of beer and go for a ride on a roller coaster. Some people found relief with these. I hope ANNE is better VERY, VERY soon, and dear Wil, take care too!
Yikes, Wil, that’s scary! According to both your twitters she’s doing much better now, but that doesn’t make it any more fun. Let’s hear it for modern medicine!
What a nightmare. Hoping for an update with good news soon!
I just wanted to say I hope Anne feels better soon. She seems like such a kind and cheerful person, she doesn’t deserve to hurt! I can sympathize with your wanting to know more from the doctors. I spent 8 months of the last 18 in the hospital, and a lot of it was “well, we don’t really know what’s up” and doctors refusing to work together out of some professional medical pride. BUT! I finally got a group of doctors who truely seemed more concerned about me than payment. They all worked together and brainstormed and found I had a kind of a rare thing that too ALL of their different skills to get it together. I’m back home now and am slowing being able to take care of myself again. And yes, time is suspiciously off kilter in the emergency room. Maybe they exist in some special ER time zone…
My wife has had several kidney stones. They are truly horrible. I hope Anne feels better soon