Part II - Back to the hospital

Damn, Kathy, you really know how to party. I wish the health issues
wouldn't uit morohing on ya. They need to stay on one thing..one FIXABLE
thing.
(((Kathy)))

Btw, I've been trying to post my long thank you note all night--regarding
the incredible box of goodies that arrived on my doorstep, from you. I
don't suppose it came through your server? It's not showing up for some
others I've asked.

--
~Candace~

Orphan Beads ~low cost and bartering for the financially challenged beader~
http://snipurl.com/6s4t

Princess Auctions ~please see for most current updates and auction
information~
http://snipurl.com/8s8o

"Kathy N-V" wrote in message
. giganews.com...
About three minutes after I wrote my note saying I was tired, I went
to bed. The moment I lay down, I felt like I was giving myself
abdominal surgery with a spork. After screaming in shock, I got in
the shower to run hot water over my back while Bob called the
Urologist.

The doc said that I'm still peeing blood, but that the stones appear
to have passed during this past horrible week. Aside from the first
two honkers, the rest must have been so small I didn't see them. Bob
tells him I'm doubled over and crying, and the urologist said to get
me to the ER without delay.

Bob gets off the phone and balks. He wants his Dad to take me, so he
can go to work. No dice, at least in my pain addled opinion. Crying,
I tell him, "I am about to take every pill I can get my hands on in
the house and end it all, because I cannot bear this pain. You want
to go see a customer so they don't run low on meat. I do not and
will not understand."

No dummy, Bob calls his work and gets things switched around. He'll
see a customer early tomorrow monring (not usual for him to work
mornings) and another rep can see the one tonight. I don't know
this, though, because I'm on the floor, writhing in pain, trying to
get my underwear on. Bob comes in to tell me, and he may have - I
wasn't really listening well at that point, and then helps me dress.

Somehow, I get down to the car, still with tears running down my face
(not blubbing - it's just that it hurt so much). I had to crawl into
the car, and was curled in a ball in the passenger seat. By the time
I've made it the half mile to the hospital, I'm just about
unconscious. Bob grabs a wheelchair and brings me in, leaving the
truck still running. All I can worry about is that someone will
steal the truck. After an earthy epithet about the truck being
meaningless, Bob wheels me in.

Things go a little blank after that. Bob asked me what I wanted, and
I said "Leave me here and let me die."

Next thing I knew, I was being wheeled to a treatment room. Not the
big kind you share with all sorts of old people and drunken folks,
but one of those delightful ICU ER rooms where they intubate you and
other fun things. I'm scared now. The "limited" fellow who was
wheeling me in left me at the door, and said "That's your bed, lady.
You need to change into a johnny.

I must have tried, because the next thing I know after that, there
are people picking me off the floor. I managed a laugh: five people
picking me up, undressing me and putting a johnny on me, and the bra
part gets assigned to the only dude. Most of the people leave, but
two nurses get working trying to find veins for IV's, which takes
quite a while, and a lot of poking. The male nurse (bra guy, who
looks like Frank Oz) starts telling me a story about a close friend
who recently got a sex change and then hit on him in a bar. I tell
him filty limericks. Hey, it takes my mind of the fact that I am
actually soaking and dripping wet with sweat from the pain. (As well
as shaking, crying, and have my heart practically coming out of my
chest)

Bob and the registration people come in, and Bob leaves just as
quickly when he sees the needles. (No sense in both of us knocked
unconscious.) Eventually, the IV's get installed, and I'm there with
two liters of fluid running in me. I protest that I had at least
that amount just before I arrived (I had been really thirsty and had
swogged that down in Diet Coke). Tough noogies. Saline got ordered,
Saline is what I'm gonna get.

The doc comes in, and he's the one I had the other day. I tell him
that I know him, and he says "Oh my God, you're the poor lady who was
in so much pain from stones. I thought that those would surely have
passed by now. Let's get you fixed up, and I'll find out the results
of the tests you had today." (He must have talked to Bob about the
tests - God knows I wasn't saying much)

Another transport guy comes over with a wheelchair to see if "I'm the
patient that needs to go outside and get a smoke."

Uh, No.

But another nurse (who looks like a dear friend, Lynne) came in and
said, you're getting happy juice intraveneously. Until today, I had
only had it under the skin. That takes about 30-ish minutes to work,
and leaves one hell of a bruise. It's a completely different
experience when given straight into the vein. She had barely begun
when the room turned into a roller coaster. Within a minute or less,
the pain started to abate. I was totally stoned, and it was very
unpleasant sensation. I did/do not like that one bit.

Holding onto the sides of the bed so I don't spin my way out of it
(Bob says I was holding still, but looking really green), I wait to
adjust and for the pain to knock down to bearable levels. The doc
returns about a half hour later with the results from the tests. The
stones are all gone, indeed, but there is other news: I'm all messed
up in the gyno area. (yipee.)

I've had endometriosis all my life, but it never caused me many
problems, unlike all the other female members of my family. My
sister has had a good dozen surgeries to remove the growths, and my
mother had everything yoinked after her endometriosis and a large
fibroid tumor started bothering her. This doc thinks I might not be
going through menopause at all, it's the growths are preventing
normal cycles, and are all over everything, causing great pain. I
need to have my PCP refer me to a gyno for probably surgery.

Terrific. (not) I explain about my PCP (and this guy knows him -
and even worse likes him), and about the horror that was the placemat
in the OB/GYN practice from Hell. He strongly recommends against
going back the the OB/GYN place, saying that they're mainly a "baby
factory," and that I need to go to a surgical gynocologist. I get a
recommendation from both him and a nurse, and I'll call later on. As
far as the PCP is concerned, he concedes that the practice has gotten
too huge and way out of control - maybe that's what's going on.

I ask the million dolllar question: could this be triggered by
emotional or mental problems? Shocked, he waits a second before
answering. (Three cheers for the happy juice: I never would have
asked this without it) The ER doc says that blood, kidney stones and
endometrial growths like this are not caused by mental problems.
However, the stress of having all those things can make the pain
worse. I want to know if he suggests a psychologist, and he says
"Yes. Only because you've been in so much pain for so long, it's
bound to have had some bad memories you want to be rid of. I suggest
you go to a pain clinic where they have all those resources, and your
PCP can then prescribe whatever you need." (Hmmm. Where have I
heard that before?)

Bob quickly (but venomously) gives the ER doc a recap. He's shocked,
but he tells me that I can do much better than that. He goes out and
returns with a business card: It's the doctor who was so kind to me
during the summer! She's a primary care doc and "women's health
surgeon!" And, she works with my specialists, and double yay - her
office is a half mile from the house (other direction from the other
PCP office). I have an appointment for Nov 15, and will be called if
there's a cancellation before then.

I refuse a second shot of happy juice, even though there's still
quite a bit of residual pain. Can't take the stoner side effects,
and the doctor laughs. Apparently, I'm in the minority, most people
actually like the stoner side effects. As for me, I just feel
nauseated, brain dead and dizzy.

The ER doc comes in and quietly says, "How many of these do you need
to get you through a day?"

I say two, which is about right, especially since I ration them. I
get a prescription to last me until the fifteenth, even though it's
more than is usually prescribed from the ER. He reiterates that I
necessary to call that office first thing tomorrow to make _them_ my
PCP office, and to ask for a quicker appointment date. He will send
them a fax tonight, telling the doc that he thinks there's some gyno
surgery in my future. I get warned not to take more than 12
Ibuprofen in a day, but not to worry about that amount, because it
will boost the other pills.

We leave the hospital and stop at the pharmacy on the way home.
(Everything is so compact where I live - all this stuff is within a
three minute drive of the house) The pharmacists see me and gasp,
"Kath, what have they done to you? I get lots of hugs, and
assurances that they're praying for me." My prescription is filled
in record time, and we go home.

I still feel sick and dizzy, but I have a few Mom-type duties to do
before I can konk out. (If I don't keep up on the minor Mom chores,
Manda will be convinced that things are really, really wrong) I
write Manda an absence note - she's had the exploding volcano stomach
virus for two days, and has lost yet another five lbs. Not good.
She's going to a birthday party tomorrow, so I grabbed a gift bag
while at the pharmacy, and she wrapped the present. A mouse wallet
named "Alphonse," and a watch with matching mouse beads, so the
birthday girl will never experience an "Alphonse shortage."

A couple of goodnight hugs later, I go to bed. I got up a little
while ago, had some ginger ale (which is stayng down), and am now
about to go konk out again. Thanks for reading this far. What a
long, strange trip it's been.

Kathy N-V

Yea, I can type, honest. sorry:/

"~Candace~" wrote in message
m...
Damn, Kathy, you really know how to party. I wish the health issues
wouldn't uit morohing on ya. They need to stay on one thing..one FIXABLE
thing.
(((Kathy)))

Btw, I've been trying to post my long thank you note all night--regarding
the incredible box of goodies that arrived on my doorstep, from you. I
don't suppose it came through your server? It's not showing up for some
others I've asked.

--
~Candace~

Orphan Beads ~low cost and bartering for the financially challenged
beader~
http://snipurl.com/6s4t

Princess Auctions ~please see for most current updates and auction
information~
http://snipurl.com/8s8o

"Kathy N-V" wrote in message
. giganews.com...
About three minutes after I wrote my note saying I was tired, I went
to bed. The moment I lay down, I felt like I was giving myself
abdominal surgery with a spork. After screaming in shock, I got in
the shower to run hot water over my back while Bob called the
Urologist.

The doc said that I'm still peeing blood, but that the stones appear
to have passed during this past horrible week. Aside from the first
two honkers, the rest must have been so small I didn't see them. Bob
tells him I'm doubled over and crying, and the urologist said to get
me to the ER without delay.

Bob gets off the phone and balks. He wants his Dad to take me, so he
can go to work. No dice, at least in my pain addled opinion. Crying,
I tell him, "I am about to take every pill I can get my hands on in
the house and end it all, because I cannot bear this pain. You want
to go see a customer so they don't run low on meat. I do not and
will not understand."

No dummy, Bob calls his work and gets things switched around. He'll
see a customer early tomorrow monring (not usual for him to work
mornings) and another rep can see the one tonight. I don't know
this, though, because I'm on the floor, writhing in pain, trying to
get my underwear on. Bob comes in to tell me, and he may have - I
wasn't really listening well at that point, and then helps me dress.

Somehow, I get down to the car, still with tears running down my face
(not blubbing - it's just that it hurt so much). I had to crawl into
the car, and was curled in a ball in the passenger seat. By the time
I've made it the half mile to the hospital, I'm just about
unconscious. Bob grabs a wheelchair and brings me in, leaving the
truck still running. All I can worry about is that someone will
steal the truck. After an earthy epithet about the truck being
meaningless, Bob wheels me in.

Things go a little blank after that. Bob asked me what I wanted, and
I said "Leave me here and let me die."

Next thing I knew, I was being wheeled to a treatment room. Not the
big kind you share with all sorts of old people and drunken folks,
but one of those delightful ICU ER rooms where they intubate you and
other fun things. I'm scared now. The "limited" fellow who was
wheeling me in left me at the door, and said "That's your bed, lady.
You need to change into a johnny.

I must have tried, because the next thing I know after that, there
are people picking me off the floor. I managed a laugh: five people
picking me up, undressing me and putting a johnny on me, and the bra
part gets assigned to the only dude. Most of the people leave, but
two nurses get working trying to find veins for IV's, which takes
quite a while, and a lot of poking. The male nurse (bra guy, who
looks like Frank Oz) starts telling me a story about a close friend
who recently got a sex change and then hit on him in a bar. I tell
him filty limericks. Hey, it takes my mind of the fact that I am
actually soaking and dripping wet with sweat from the pain. (As well
as shaking, crying, and have my heart practically coming out of my
chest)

Bob and the registration people come in, and Bob leaves just as
quickly when he sees the needles. (No sense in both of us knocked
unconscious.) Eventually, the IV's get installed, and I'm there with
two liters of fluid running in me. I protest that I had at least
that amount just before I arrived (I had been really thirsty and had
swogged that down in Diet Coke). Tough noogies. Saline got ordered,
Saline is what I'm gonna get.

The doc comes in, and he's the one I had the other day. I tell him
that I know him, and he says "Oh my God, you're the poor lady who was
in so much pain from stones. I thought that those would surely have
passed by now. Let's get you fixed up, and I'll find out the results
of the tests you had today." (He must have talked to Bob about the
tests - God knows I wasn't saying much)

Another transport guy comes over with a wheelchair to see if "I'm the
patient that needs to go outside and get a smoke."

Uh, No.

But another nurse (who looks like a dear friend, Lynne) came in and
said, you're getting happy juice intraveneously. Until today, I had
only had it under the skin. That takes about 30-ish minutes to work,
and leaves one hell of a bruise. It's a completely different
experience when given straight into the vein. She had barely begun
when the room turned into a roller coaster. Within a minute or less,
the pain started to abate. I was totally stoned, and it was very
unpleasant sensation. I did/do not like that one bit.

Holding onto the sides of the bed so I don't spin my way out of it
(Bob says I was holding still, but looking really green), I wait to
adjust and for the pain to knock down to bearable levels. The doc
returns about a half hour later with the results from the tests. The
stones are all gone, indeed, but there is other news: I'm all messed
up in the gyno area. (yipee.)

I've had endometriosis all my life, but it never caused me many
problems, unlike all the other female members of my family. My
sister has had a good dozen surgeries to remove the growths, and my
mother had everything yoinked after her endometriosis and a large
fibroid tumor started bothering her. This doc thinks I might not be
going through menopause at all, it's the growths are preventing
normal cycles, and are all over everything, causing great pain. I
need to have my PCP refer me to a gyno for probably surgery.

Terrific. (not) I explain about my PCP (and this guy knows him -
and even worse likes him), and about the horror that was the placemat
in the OB/GYN practice from Hell. He strongly recommends against
going back the the OB/GYN place, saying that they're mainly a "baby
factory," and that I need to go to a surgical gynocologist. I get a
recommendation from both him and a nurse, and I'll call later on. As
far as the PCP is concerned, he concedes that the practice has gotten
too huge and way out of control - maybe that's what's going on.

I ask the million dolllar question: could this be triggered by
emotional or mental problems? Shocked, he waits a second before
answering. (Three cheers for the happy juice: I never would have
asked this without it) The ER doc says that blood, kidney stones and
endometrial growths like this are not caused by mental problems.
However, the stress of having all those things can make the pain
worse. I want to know if he suggests a psychologist, and he says
"Yes. Only because you've been in so much pain for so long, it's
bound to have had some bad memories you want to be rid of. I suggest
you go to a pain clinic where they have all those resources, and your
PCP can then prescribe whatever you need." (Hmmm. Where have I
heard that before?)

Bob quickly (but venomously) gives the ER doc a recap. He's shocked,
but he tells me that I can do much better than that. He goes out and
returns with a business card: It's the doctor who was so kind to me
during the summer! She's a primary care doc and "women's health
surgeon!" And, she works with my specialists, and double yay - her
office is a half mile from the house (other direction from the other
PCP office). I have an appointment for Nov 15, and will be called if
there's a cancellation before then.

I refuse a second shot of happy juice, even though there's still
quite a bit of residual pain. Can't take the stoner side effects,
and the doctor laughs. Apparently, I'm in the minority, most people
actually like the stoner side effects. As for me, I just feel
nauseated, brain dead and dizzy.

The ER doc comes in and quietly says, "How many of these do you need
to get you through a day?"

I say two, which is about right, especially since I ration them. I
get a prescription to last me until the fifteenth, even though it's
more than is usually prescribed from the ER. He reiterates that I
necessary to call that office first thing tomorrow to make _them_ my
PCP office, and to ask for a quicker appointment date. He will send
them a fax tonight, telling the doc that he thinks there's some gyno
surgery in my future. I get warned not to take more than 12
Ibuprofen in a day, but not to worry about that amount, because it
will boost the other pills.

We leave the hospital and stop at the pharmacy on the way home.
(Everything is so compact where I live - all this stuff is within a
three minute drive of the house) The pharmacists see me and gasp,
"Kath, what have they done to you? I get lots of hugs, and
assurances that they're praying for me." My prescription is filled
in record time, and we go home.

I still feel sick and dizzy, but I have a few Mom-type duties to do
before I can konk out. (If I don't keep up on the minor Mom chores,
Manda will be convinced that things are really, really wrong) I
write Manda an absence note - she's had the exploding volcano stomach
virus for two days, and has lost yet another five lbs. Not good.
She's going to a birthday party tomorrow, so I grabbed a gift bag
while at the pharmacy, and she wrapped the present. A mouse wallet
named "Alphonse," and a watch with matching mouse beads, so the
birthday girl will never experience an "Alphonse shortage."

A couple of goodnight hugs later, I go to bed. I got up a little
while ago, had some ginger ale (which is stayng down), and am now
about to go konk out again. Thanks for reading this far. What a
long, strange trip it's been.

Kathy N-V

Jeebus Kath! I'm glad the stones are gone but unhappy about all the pain.
I'm glad you got happy juice and I'm right there in the minority with you.
Happy juice makes me feel weird and I don't like that feeling. However
there are times when you absolutely have to break down and take those things
and maybe it will give you some relief. I hope that is happening tonight.

The fact you are on the computer is completely amazing. Take care of
yourself.

--
Starlia Klopman
www.klopmanstudios.com

Maybe this will work?

My original post went who knows where, so I'm reposting this--I apologise if
some of ya'll get it twice.

Mailman delivered a box to me today. It was marked "Used Crochet Supplies."
LOL!

Inside was a bounty of goodies--including a padded envie marked ...what
else..."Replacement Faucet Parts."

I am now the proud owner of the Loch Ness Monster. Honest. All mine
Lines are forming at the door, the viewing fee will be 3 bucks a pop, and
concessions are to the left.

Besides my newfound Nessie friend, Kathy sent me some things she's recc'd to
me over the past few months and some totally out-of-left-field surprises
Two lucious smelling bars of french milled vanilla citrus soap. ( I am
going to shower for hours with that!) A pretty tin of tiny autumn themed
cookie cutters. I'm torn over those--clay or cookies???? I love mini
cookies. A tube of skin cream. A booklet of patterns for crocheted purses
(someday I shall have the patience to do a whole purse) Two "Talk Like a
Pirate Day 2004" pins--I have this feeling Manda snuck those in there, to
get rid of the evidence! LOL There was also a Blink watchface, which is
freaking me out cause I've been thinking about buying a watchface recently,
and looking over some choices.

In the padded envie was a motherlode of pearls. Many types, all gorgeous:-)
Nestled in with those was a collection of silver beads...and clasps,
inlcuding a Paula Radke clasp. One of those in particular is going to work
incredibly well with my re-designed pieces using Starlia's purple and red
set Oh- and some lovely moonstone in 3 different sizes. I am in beady
heaven And I have to add "finish
the gunmetal cuff" to my ever growing list of things to do. My mind is
swirling with all the nifty things I can do with these goodies.

Thank you, so much, Kathy. You really made my day.

--
~Candace~

Orphan Beads ~low cost and bartering for the financially challenged beader~
http://snipurl.com/6s4t

Princess Auctions ~please see for most current updates and auction
information~
http://snipurl.com/8s8o

More than suit! I'm awash in creative juices....all of them brewing and
simmering in my head ever since I ripped into that box! I haven't felt this
inspired in weeks. It's *that* that I'm really thanking you for

"Kathy N-V" wrote in message
. giganews.com...
On Fri, 29 Oct 2004 2:30:29 -0400, Candace~ wrote
(in message ):

Btw, I've been trying to post my long thank you note all night--regarding
the incredible box of goodies that arrived on my doorstep, from you. I
don't suppose it came through your server? It's not showing up for some
others I've asked.

Not yet, but I'm delighted it got there. Will it suit the projects
you have in mind?

Kathy N-V

((((Kathy)))),

What a day!

--
Jerri
www.beadbimbo.com

Geez, Kathy! I wish to all the gods you could get a real break for a while!

I'm so glad though, that MAYBE you've scored yourself a really good PCP
after all this. I'm crossing every available appendage that she works out
just right.

Many many hugs,
KarenK

OH, Kathy, what can I say? I know about the endo stuff...it can be painful all by
itself, which is why I had the hyster in April. All that other stuff on top of it,
makes me cry for you. The new doc better do right by you, and get you feeling better
in short order. ((((((((Kathy))))))) you are loved.
--
Jalynne - Keeper of the Quilt for ME club list
Queen Gypsy (snail mail available upon request)
see what i've been up to at www.100megsfree4.com/jalynne

"Kathy N-V" wrote in message
. giganews.com...
About three minutes after I wrote my note saying I was tired, I went
to bed. The moment I lay down, I felt like I was giving myself
abdominal surgery with a spork. After screaming in shock, I got in
the shower to run hot water over my back while Bob called the
Urologist.

The doc said that I'm still peeing blood, but that the stones appear
to have passed during this past horrible week. Aside from the first
two honkers, the rest must have been so small I didn't see them. Bob
tells him I'm doubled over and crying, and the urologist said to get
me to the ER without delay.

Bob gets off the phone and balks. He wants his Dad to take me, so he
can go to work. No dice, at least in my pain addled opinion. Crying,
I tell him, "I am about to take every pill I can get my hands on in
the house and end it all, because I cannot bear this pain. You want
to go see a customer so they don't run low on meat. I do not and
will not understand."

No dummy, Bob calls his work and gets things switched around. He'll
see a customer early tomorrow monring (not usual for him to work
mornings) and another rep can see the one tonight. I don't know
this, though, because I'm on the floor, writhing in pain, trying to
get my underwear on. Bob comes in to tell me, and he may have - I
wasn't really listening well at that point, and then helps me dress.

Somehow, I get down to the car, still with tears running down my face
(not blubbing - it's just that it hurt so much). I had to crawl into
the car, and was curled in a ball in the passenger seat. By the time
I've made it the half mile to the hospital, I'm just about
unconscious. Bob grabs a wheelchair and brings me in, leaving the
truck still running. All I can worry about is that someone will
steal the truck. After an earthy epithet about the truck being
meaningless, Bob wheels me in.

Things go a little blank after that. Bob asked me what I wanted, and
I said "Leave me here and let me die."

Next thing I knew, I was being wheeled to a treatment room. Not the
big kind you share with all sorts of old people and drunken folks,
but one of those delightful ICU ER rooms where they intubate you and
other fun things. I'm scared now. The "limited" fellow who was
wheeling me in left me at the door, and said "That's your bed, lady.
You need to change into a johnny.

I must have tried, because the next thing I know after that, there
are people picking me off the floor. I managed a laugh: five people
picking me up, undressing me and putting a johnny on me, and the bra
part gets assigned to the only dude. Most of the people leave, but
two nurses get working trying to find veins for IV's, which takes
quite a while, and a lot of poking. The male nurse (bra guy, who
looks like Frank Oz) starts telling me a story about a close friend
who recently got a sex change and then hit on him in a bar. I tell
him filty limericks. Hey, it takes my mind of the fact that I am
actually soaking and dripping wet with sweat from the pain. (As well
as shaking, crying, and have my heart practically coming out of my
chest)

Bob and the registration people come in, and Bob leaves just as
quickly when he sees the needles. (No sense in both of us knocked
unconscious.) Eventually, the IV's get installed, and I'm there with
two liters of fluid running in me. I protest that I had at least
that amount just before I arrived (I had been really thirsty and had
swogged that down in Diet Coke). Tough noogies. Saline got ordered,
Saline is what I'm gonna get.

The doc comes in, and he's the one I had the other day. I tell him
that I know him, and he says "Oh my God, you're the poor lady who was
in so much pain from stones. I thought that those would surely have
passed by now. Let's get you fixed up, and I'll find out the results
of the tests you had today." (He must have talked to Bob about the
tests - God knows I wasn't saying much)

Another transport guy comes over with a wheelchair to see if "I'm the
patient that needs to go outside and get a smoke."

Uh, No.

But another nurse (who looks like a dear friend, Lynne) came in and
said, you're getting happy juice intraveneously. Until today, I had
only had it under the skin. That takes about 30-ish minutes to work,
and leaves one hell of a bruise. It's a completely different
experience when given straight into the vein. She had barely begun
when the room turned into a roller coaster. Within a minute or less,
the pain started to abate. I was totally stoned, and it was very
unpleasant sensation. I did/do not like that one bit.

Holding onto the sides of the bed so I don't spin my way out of it
(Bob says I was holding still, but looking really green), I wait to
adjust and for the pain to knock down to bearable levels. The doc
returns about a half hour later with the results from the tests. The
stones are all gone, indeed, but there is other news: I'm all messed
up in the gyno area. (yipee.)

I've had endometriosis all my life, but it never caused me many
problems, unlike all the other female members of my family. My
sister has had a good dozen surgeries to remove the growths, and my
mother had everything yoinked after her endometriosis and a large
fibroid tumor started bothering her. This doc thinks I might not be
going through menopause at all, it's the growths are preventing
normal cycles, and are all over everything, causing great pain. I
need to have my PCP refer me to a gyno for probably surgery.

Terrific. (not) I explain about my PCP (and this guy knows him -
and even worse likes him), and about the horror that was the placemat
in the OB/GYN practice from Hell. He strongly recommends against
going back the the OB/GYN place, saying that they're mainly a "baby
factory," and that I need to go to a surgical gynocologist. I get a
recommendation from both him and a nurse, and I'll call later on. As
far as the PCP is concerned, he concedes that the practice has gotten
too huge and way out of control - maybe that's what's going on.

I ask the million dolllar question: could this be triggered by
emotional or mental problems? Shocked, he waits a second before
answering. (Three cheers for the happy juice: I never would have
asked this without it) The ER doc says that blood, kidney stones and
endometrial growths like this are not caused by mental problems.
However, the stress of having all those things can make the pain
worse. I want to know if he suggests a psychologist, and he says
"Yes. Only because you've been in so much pain for so long, it's
bound to have had some bad memories you want to be rid of. I suggest
you go to a pain clinic where they have all those resources, and your
PCP can then prescribe whatever you need." (Hmmm. Where have I
heard that before?)

Bob quickly (but venomously) gives the ER doc a recap. He's shocked,
but he tells me that I can do much better than that. He goes out and
returns with a business card: It's the doctor who was so kind to me
during the summer! She's a primary care doc and "women's health
surgeon!" And, she works with my specialists, and double yay - her
office is a half mile from the house (other direction from the other
PCP office). I have an appointment for Nov 15, and will be called if
there's a cancellation before then.

I refuse a second shot of happy juice, even though there's still
quite a bit of residual pain. Can't take the stoner side effects,
and the doctor laughs. Apparently, I'm in the minority, most people
actually like the stoner side effects. As for me, I just feel
nauseated, brain dead and dizzy.

The ER doc comes in and quietly says, "How many of these do you need
to get you through a day?"

I say two, which is about right, especially since I ration them. I
get a prescription to last me until the fifteenth, even though it's
more than is usually prescribed from the ER. He reiterates that I
necessary to call that office first thing tomorrow to make _them_ my
PCP office, and to ask for a quicker appointment date. He will send
them a fax tonight, telling the doc that he thinks there's some gyno
surgery in my future. I get warned not to take more than 12
Ibuprofen in a day, but not to worry about that amount, because it
will boost the other pills.

We leave the hospital and stop at the pharmacy on the way home.
(Everything is so compact where I live - all this stuff is within a
three minute drive of the house) The pharmacists see me and gasp,
"Kath, what have they done to you? I get lots of hugs, and
assurances that they're praying for me." My prescription is filled
in record time, and we go home.

I still feel sick and dizzy, but I have a few Mom-type duties to do
before I can konk out. (If I don't keep up on the minor Mom chores,
Manda will be convinced that things are really, really wrong) I
write Manda an absence note - she's had the exploding volcano stomach
virus for two days, and has lost yet another five lbs. Not good.
She's going to a birthday party tomorrow, so I grabbed a gift bag
while at the pharmacy, and she wrapped the present. A mouse wallet
named "Alphonse," and a watch with matching mouse beads, so the
birthday girl will never experience an "Alphonse shortage."

A couple of goodnight hugs later, I go to bed. I got up a little
while ago, had some ginger ale (which is stayng down), and am now
about to go konk out again. Thanks for reading this far. What a
long, strange trip it's been.

Kathy N-V

Egad Kathy! I'm shocked...
(((((((((((((((((((((((KATHY)))))))))))))))))))))) ))

Valerie

--
RCB FAQ: http://www.geocities.com/faqrcb
RCB Member Links newest home: http://www.blackcatbeads.com/rcb.htm

"Kathy N-V" wrote in message
. giganews.com...
About three minutes after I wrote my note saying I was tired, I went
to bed. The moment I lay down, I felt like I was giving myself
abdominal surgery with a spork. After screaming in shock, I got in
the shower to run hot water over my back while Bob called the
Urologist.

The doc said that I'm still peeing blood, but that the stones appear
to have passed during this past horrible week. Aside from the first
two honkers, the rest must have been so small I didn't see them. Bob
tells him I'm doubled over and crying, and the urologist said to get
me to the ER without delay.

Bob gets off the phone and balks. He wants his Dad to take me, so he
can go to work. No dice, at least in my pain addled opinion. Crying,
I tell him, "I am about to take every pill I can get my hands on in
the house and end it all, because I cannot bear this pain. You want
to go see a customer so they don't run low on meat. I do not and
will not understand."

No dummy, Bob calls his work and gets things switched around. He'll
see a customer early tomorrow monring (not usual for him to work
mornings) and another rep can see the one tonight. I don't know
this, though, because I'm on the floor, writhing in pain, trying to
get my underwear on. Bob comes in to tell me, and he may have - I
wasn't really listening well at that point, and then helps me dress.

Somehow, I get down to the car, still with tears running down my face
(not blubbing - it's just that it hurt so much). I had to crawl into
the car, and was curled in a ball in the passenger seat. By the time
I've made it the half mile to the hospital, I'm just about
unconscious. Bob grabs a wheelchair and brings me in, leaving the
truck still running. All I can worry about is that someone will
steal the truck. After an earthy epithet about the truck being
meaningless, Bob wheels me in.

Things go a little blank after that. Bob asked me what I wanted, and
I said "Leave me here and let me die."

Next thing I knew, I was being wheeled to a treatment room. Not the
big kind you share with all sorts of old people and drunken folks,
but one of those delightful ICU ER rooms where they intubate you and
other fun things. I'm scared now. The "limited" fellow who was
wheeling me in left me at the door, and said "That's your bed, lady.
You need to change into a johnny.

I must have tried, because the next thing I know after that, there
are people picking me off the floor. I managed a laugh: five people
picking me up, undressing me and putting a johnny on me, and the bra
part gets assigned to the only dude. Most of the people leave, but
two nurses get working trying to find veins for IV's, which takes
quite a while, and a lot of poking. The male nurse (bra guy, who
looks like Frank Oz) starts telling me a story about a close friend
who recently got a sex change and then hit on him in a bar. I tell
him filty limericks. Hey, it takes my mind of the fact that I am
actually soaking and dripping wet with sweat from the pain. (As well
as shaking, crying, and have my heart practically coming out of my
chest)

Bob and the registration people come in, and Bob leaves just as
quickly when he sees the needles. (No sense in both of us knocked
unconscious.) Eventually, the IV's get installed, and I'm there with
two liters of fluid running in me. I protest that I had at least
that amount just before I arrived (I had been really thirsty and had
swogged that down in Diet Coke). Tough noogies. Saline got ordered,
Saline is what I'm gonna get.

The doc comes in, and he's the one I had the other day. I tell him
that I know him, and he says "Oh my God, you're the poor lady who was
in so much pain from stones. I thought that those would surely have
passed by now. Let's get you fixed up, and I'll find out the results
of the tests you had today." (He must have talked to Bob about the
tests - God knows I wasn't saying much)

Another transport guy comes over with a wheelchair to see if "I'm the
patient that needs to go outside and get a smoke."

Uh, No.

But another nurse (who looks like a dear friend, Lynne) came in and
said, you're getting happy juice intraveneously. Until today, I had
only had it under the skin. That takes about 30-ish minutes to work,
and leaves one hell of a bruise. It's a completely different
experience when given straight into the vein. She had barely begun
when the room turned into a roller coaster. Within a minute or less,
the pain started to abate. I was totally stoned, and it was very
unpleasant sensation. I did/do not like that one bit.

Holding onto the sides of the bed so I don't spin my way out of it
(Bob says I was holding still, but looking really green), I wait to
adjust and for the pain to knock down to bearable levels. The doc
returns about a half hour later with the results from the tests. The
stones are all gone, indeed, but there is other news: I'm all messed
up in the gyno area. (yipee.)

I've had endometriosis all my life, but it never caused me many
problems, unlike all the other female members of my family. My
sister has had a good dozen surgeries to remove the growths, and my
mother had everything yoinked after her endometriosis and a large
fibroid tumor started bothering her. This doc thinks I might not be
going through menopause at all, it's the growths are preventing
normal cycles, and are all over everything, causing great pain. I
need to have my PCP refer me to a gyno for probably surgery.

Terrific. (not) I explain about my PCP (and this guy knows him -
and even worse likes him), and about the horror that was the placemat
in the OB/GYN practice from Hell. He strongly recommends against
going back the the OB/GYN place, saying that they're mainly a "baby
factory," and that I need to go to a surgical gynocologist. I get a
recommendation from both him and a nurse, and I'll call later on. As
far as the PCP is concerned, he concedes that the practice has gotten
too huge and way out of control - maybe that's what's going on.

I ask the million dolllar question: could this be triggered by
emotional or mental problems? Shocked, he waits a second before
answering. (Three cheers for the happy juice: I never would have
asked this without it) The ER doc says that blood, kidney stones and
endometrial growths like this are not caused by mental problems.
However, the stress of having all those things can make the pain
worse. I want to know if he suggests a psychologist, and he says
"Yes. Only because you've been in so much pain for so long, it's
bound to have had some bad memories you want to be rid of. I suggest
you go to a pain clinic where they have all those resources, and your
PCP can then prescribe whatever you need." (Hmmm. Where have I
heard that before?)

Bob quickly (but venomously) gives the ER doc a recap. He's shocked,
but he tells me that I can do much better than that. He goes out and
returns with a business card: It's the doctor who was so kind to me
during the summer! She's a primary care doc and "women's health
surgeon!" And, she works with my specialists, and double yay - her
office is a half mile from the house (other direction from the other
PCP office). I have an appointment for Nov 15, and will be called if
there's a cancellation before then.

I refuse a second shot of happy juice, even though there's still
quite a bit of residual pain. Can't take the stoner side effects,
and the doctor laughs. Apparently, I'm in the minority, most people
actually like the stoner side effects. As for me, I just feel
nauseated, brain dead and dizzy.

The ER doc comes in and quietly says, "How many of these do you need
to get you through a day?"

I say two, which is about right, especially since I ration them. I
get a prescription to last me until the fifteenth, even though it's
more than is usually prescribed from the ER. He reiterates that I
necessary to call that office first thing tomorrow to make _them_ my
PCP office, and to ask for a quicker appointment date. He will send
them a fax tonight, telling the doc that he thinks there's some gyno
surgery in my future. I get warned not to take more than 12
Ibuprofen in a day, but not to worry about that amount, because it
will boost the other pills.

We leave the hospital and stop at the pharmacy on the way home.
(Everything is so compact where I live - all this stuff is within a
three minute drive of the house) The pharmacists see me and gasp,
"Kath, what have they done to you? I get lots of hugs, and
assurances that they're praying for me." My prescription is filled
in record time, and we go home.

I still feel sick and dizzy, but I have a few Mom-type duties to do
before I can konk out. (If I don't keep up on the minor Mom chores,
Manda will be convinced that things are really, really wrong) I
write Manda an absence note - she's had the exploding volcano stomach
virus for two days, and has lost yet another five lbs. Not good.
She's going to a birthday party tomorrow, so I grabbed a gift bag
while at the pharmacy, and she wrapped the present. A mouse wallet
named "Alphonse," and a watch with matching mouse beads, so the
birthday girl will never experience an "Alphonse shortage."

A couple of goodnight hugs later, I go to bed. I got up a little
while ago, had some ginger ale (which is stayng down), and am now
about to go konk out again. Thanks for reading this far. What a
long, strange trip it's been.

Kathy N-V

Wow, Kathy!

I hope you're feeling better now.

I never know whether to be glad there is something real for them to treat,
or groan, oh no, not another thing.

Tina


"Kathy N-V" wrote in message
. giganews.com...
About three minutes after I wrote my note saying I was tired, I went
to bed. The moment I lay down, I felt like I was giving myself
abdominal surgery with a spork. After screaming in shock, I got in
the shower to run hot water over my back while Bob called the
Urologist.

The doc said that I'm still peeing blood, but that the stones appear
to have passed during this past horrible week. Aside from the first
two honkers, the rest must have been so small I didn't see them. Bob
tells him I'm doubled over and crying, and the urologist said to get
me to the ER without delay.

Bob gets off the phone and balks. He wants his Dad to take me, so he
can go to work. No dice, at least in my pain addled opinion. Crying,
I tell him, "I am about to take every pill I can get my hands on in
the house and end it all, because I cannot bear this pain. You want
to go see a customer so they don't run low on meat. I do not and
will not understand."

No dummy, Bob calls his work and gets things switched around. He'll
see a customer early tomorrow monring (not usual for him to work
mornings) and another rep can see the one tonight. I don't know
this, though, because I'm on the floor, writhing in pain, trying to
get my underwear on. Bob comes in to tell me, and he may have - I
wasn't really listening well at that point, and then helps me dress.

Somehow, I get down to the car, still with tears running down my face
(not blubbing - it's just that it hurt so much). I had to crawl into
the car, and was curled in a ball in the passenger seat. By the time
I've made it the half mile to the hospital, I'm just about
unconscious. Bob grabs a wheelchair and brings me in, leaving the
truck still running. All I can worry about is that someone will
steal the truck. After an earthy epithet about the truck being
meaningless, Bob wheels me in.

Things go a little blank after that. Bob asked me what I wanted, and
I said "Leave me here and let me die."

Next thing I knew, I was being wheeled to a treatment room. Not the
big kind you share with all sorts of old people and drunken folks,
but one of those delightful ICU ER rooms where they intubate you and
other fun things. I'm scared now. The "limited" fellow who was
wheeling me in left me at the door, and said "That's your bed, lady.
You need to change into a johnny.

I must have tried, because the next thing I know after that, there
are people picking me off the floor. I managed a laugh: five people
picking me up, undressing me and putting a johnny on me, and the bra
part gets assigned to the only dude. Most of the people leave, but
two nurses get working trying to find veins for IV's, which takes
quite a while, and a lot of poking. The male nurse (bra guy, who
looks like Frank Oz) starts telling me a story about a close friend
who recently got a sex change and then hit on him in a bar. I tell
him filty limericks. Hey, it takes my mind of the fact that I am
actually soaking and dripping wet with sweat from the pain. (As well
as shaking, crying, and have my heart practically coming out of my
chest)

Bob and the registration people come in, and Bob leaves just as
quickly when he sees the needles. (No sense in both of us knocked
unconscious.) Eventually, the IV's get installed, and I'm there with
two liters of fluid running in me. I protest that I had at least
that amount just before I arrived (I had been really thirsty and had
swogged that down in Diet Coke). Tough noogies. Saline got ordered,
Saline is what I'm gonna get.

The doc comes in, and he's the one I had the other day. I tell him
that I know him, and he says "Oh my God, you're the poor lady who was
in so much pain from stones. I thought that those would surely have
passed by now. Let's get you fixed up, and I'll find out the results
of the tests you had today." (He must have talked to Bob about the
tests - God knows I wasn't saying much)

Another transport guy comes over with a wheelchair to see if "I'm the
patient that needs to go outside and get a smoke."

Uh, No.

But another nurse (who looks like a dear friend, Lynne) came in and
said, you're getting happy juice intraveneously. Until today, I had
only had it under the skin. That takes about 30-ish minutes to work,
and leaves one hell of a bruise. It's a completely different
experience when given straight into the vein. She had barely begun
when the room turned into a roller coaster. Within a minute or less,
the pain started to abate. I was totally stoned, and it was very
unpleasant sensation. I did/do not like that one bit.

Holding onto the sides of the bed so I don't spin my way out of it
(Bob says I was holding still, but looking really green), I wait to
adjust and for the pain to knock down to bearable levels. The doc
returns about a half hour later with the results from the tests. The
stones are all gone, indeed, but there is other news: I'm all messed
up in the gyno area. (yipee.)

I've had endometriosis all my life, but it never caused me many
problems, unlike all the other female members of my family. My
sister has had a good dozen surgeries to remove the growths, and my
mother had everything yoinked after her endometriosis and a large
fibroid tumor started bothering her. This doc thinks I might not be
going through menopause at all, it's the growths are preventing
normal cycles, and are all over everything, causing great pain. I
need to have my PCP refer me to a gyno for probably surgery.

Terrific. (not) I explain about my PCP (and this guy knows him -
and even worse likes him), and about the horror that was the placemat
in the OB/GYN practice from Hell. He strongly recommends against
going back the the OB/GYN place, saying that they're mainly a "baby
factory," and that I need to go to a surgical gynocologist. I get a
recommendation from both him and a nurse, and I'll call later on. As
far as the PCP is concerned, he concedes that the practice has gotten
too huge and way out of control - maybe that's what's going on.

I ask the million dolllar question: could this be triggered by
emotional or mental problems? Shocked, he waits a second before
answering. (Three cheers for the happy juice: I never would have
asked this without it) The ER doc says that blood, kidney stones and
endometrial growths like this are not caused by mental problems.
However, the stress of having all those things can make the pain
worse. I want to know if he suggests a psychologist, and he says
"Yes. Only because you've been in so much pain for so long, it's
bound to have had some bad memories you want to be rid of. I suggest
you go to a pain clinic where they have all those resources, and your
PCP can then prescribe whatever you need." (Hmmm. Where have I
heard that before?)

Bob quickly (but venomously) gives the ER doc a recap. He's shocked,
but he tells me that I can do much better than that. He goes out and
returns with a business card: It's the doctor who was so kind to me
during the summer! She's a primary care doc and "women's health
surgeon!" And, she works with my specialists, and double yay - her
office is a half mile from the house (other direction from the other
PCP office). I have an appointment for Nov 15, and will be called if
there's a cancellation before then.

I refuse a second shot of happy juice, even though there's still
quite a bit of residual pain. Can't take the stoner side effects,
and the doctor laughs. Apparently, I'm in the minority, most people
actually like the stoner side effects. As for me, I just feel
nauseated, brain dead and dizzy.

The ER doc comes in and quietly says, "How many of these do you need
to get you through a day?"

I say two, which is about right, especially since I ration them. I
get a prescription to last me until the fifteenth, even though it's
more than is usually prescribed from the ER. He reiterates that I
necessary to call that office first thing tomorrow to make _them_ my
PCP office, and to ask for a quicker appointment date. He will send
them a fax tonight, telling the doc that he thinks there's some gyno
surgery in my future. I get warned not to take more than 12
Ibuprofen in a day, but not to worry about that amount, because it
will boost the other pills.

We leave the hospital and stop at the pharmacy on the way home.
(Everything is so compact where I live - all this stuff is within a
three minute drive of the house) The pharmacists see me and gasp,
"Kath, what have they done to you? I get lots of hugs, and
assurances that they're praying for me." My prescription is filled
in record time, and we go home.

I still feel sick and dizzy, but I have a few Mom-type duties to do
before I can konk out. (If I don't keep up on the minor Mom chores,
Manda will be convinced that things are really, really wrong) I
write Manda an absence note - she's had the exploding volcano stomach
virus for two days, and has lost yet another five lbs. Not good.
She's going to a birthday party tomorrow, so I grabbed a gift bag
while at the pharmacy, and she wrapped the present. A mouse wallet
named "Alphonse," and a watch with matching mouse beads, so the
birthday girl will never experience an "Alphonse shortage."

A couple of goodnight hugs later, I go to bed. I got up a little
while ago, had some ginger ale (which is stayng down), and am now
about to go konk out again. Thanks for reading this far. What a
long, strange trip it's been.

Kathy N-V