And so begins another chapter in the continuing drama of Mike vs. the Kidneys From Hell.

I went to the doctor yesterday.  Not the urologist, just Dr. Schmitt.  Both Sunday and Monday night I got only about 2-1/2 hours of sleep.  The pain wasn't bad enough to send me to the ER, but it was bad enough to keep me awake.  I debated going anyway on Sunday night, but I decided that a good night's sleep, while precious, wasn't worth $200 (I have a deductible to meet).

Thank god for Dr. Schmitt.  Her 2nd question, after "How bad is it?" was "What do you want me to give you fo the pain?"  So, like it or not, I'm back on the opiates.  She's going to make a junkie out of me yet.  It was almost funny: after she wrote me an enormous prescription for some really strong pills, she asked me if I wanted some Toradol to go with them.  I told her no; it doesn't work very well unless it's injected and it gives me gutrot.  She seemed almost depressed.  I think she wants so badly to fix my kidneys for me and she knows that she can't, so she just bends over backwards to make me as comfortable as possible.  I told her about my new plan: should I start to pass a stone, along with the opiates I'm going to try a dose of pyridium.  (It's a smooth muscle relaxer that people generally take for bladder infection pain.)  My theory (and I have no idea if it'll work) is that if it can help relax my ureter it may speed things along.  She actually got out her prescription pad and started writing before I could interrupt and remind her that I could get it over the counter.  It's really sad that more doctors aren't like her.  As busy as she is, she never acts rushed, always listens (really listens) to what I'm saying, and always considers my suggestions or objections regarding a treatment.  And when we disagree about something, she takes the time to explain herself and then lets me make the final decision.  With as many problems as I've had, and as many doctors as I've seen, it's so very rare to find someone that you trust to always do the right thing.

I also got to glance at the results of my 24 hour collection from a couple weeks ago.  I didn't do more than glance, because Dr. Schmitt had already been in the room with me for 20 minutes and I knew she was busy, but I noticed two things.  (There's another thing I like about her: most doctors would just tell me their own interpretation of any lab results, but she knows I know what the values mean, so she actually hands me the reports to look at.)  My citrate was rock-bottom, even though I've been supplementing, and my oxalates were through the roof.  Hopefully the urologist will call me tomorrow so we can discuss these; I'm totally at a loss as to what to do next.

Well, before I drop off into drug-induced never-never-land, I want to share a really excellent book.  Read Lovely Bones, by Alice Sebold.  In the very beginning of the book, 14-year-old Susie Salmon is brutally raped and murdered by a neighbor.  It's the story of how Susie's family copes (or doesn't cope) with her loss and with the pain of not knowing exactly what happened.  But the brilliant thing about the story is that the whole thing is narrated by Susie -- from heaven.  This incredibly unique point of view gives the reader the opportunity to know what all the characters are thinking and feeling (even their secrets), because unlike most books that focus on just one viewpoint, Susie is able to see everything from heaven.  It's also fascinating reading the author's depiction of the afterlife.  But even without the quirkiness of the story, it's very well written and has a very compelling plot.  This was another fantastic recommendation from Shelley at the bookstore; now I'm passing it on!

I know...I'm a bad, bad blogger.  It's been far too long, but I just really haven't had anything exciting or meaningful to say.  Not that I do now, but...

Well, so ends a beautiful three-day weekend.  I have done absolutely nothing.  That's not entirely true; I did try a new recipe for this bean soup, which partway through I could tell wasn't going to taste very good so got altered considerably.  It ended up coming out fairly tasty, although I will be eating this soup for the rest of my life.  It's kind of sad that that's the most productive thing I've done all weekend.

I did spend some time yesterday talking with my mother, who called to say "happy easter."  Happy easter ended up taking an hour and a half.  She's a wonderful person, and she doesn't even really get on my case about things any more, but she still has this amazing knack for making me feel like I'm doing everything wrong.  She made a comment about giving me their piano (I'm the only one in the family that plays, so it makes sense) when I get a house.  When I get a house.  HAHAHAHAHA!!!  It was all I could do not to laugh right then.  I know she doesn't mean it, and I know she really does understand that I'm not as well off as they are, but it gets irritating trying to justify why I don't have this or that every time I talk with her.

On a lighter note, I'm trying to decide on a halloween costume.  Yes, I know it's a little early, but I'm going to have to come up with something even better than last year's costume, and last year it took me several months to put mine together.  And besides, as the token gay man in the office, I'd be pretty ashamed of myself if someone outdid me.  So far I'm trying to decide between Queen Elizabeth and the pope.    The queen would be a pretty spectacular (and appropriate) costume, but I think the pope has some comedic value :-).  Who knows, I might go of on a completely different track -- if anyone has any ideas, let me know.

I haven't done a book review in way too long, and I have read a couple of good ones lately.  I think everyone should read Girl With a Pearl Earring, by Tracy Chevalier.  Shelley at the bookstore recommended it, telling me it was one of her favorites.  I can see why.  It's historical fiction, taking place in Holland in the 1660s.  The novelist took one of Vermeer's paintings and told a story around it, making up a maid that had to leave her home to work in the famous painter's household after her father had an accident.  At first she is intimidated by these aristocratic people, but she's fascinated by her master's paintings.  She ends up getting painted herself, almost tearing the household apart in the process.  Chevalier uses a very basic, almost simple technique that makes the whole story extremely colorful and alive -- a lot like a fabulous painting.  Read it -- it's very good.

It's been a long, sore, shitty week, and I'm glad it's over.  But aside from the general relief of having two days off to hide under the bed, I saw something online tonight that made me smile.

Check this website out.  If you are at the bar (or wherever), and some loser starts pestering you for your number, you have a new option.  You no longer have to choose between (a) giving it to him, (b) giving him a fake number and (c) publicly humiliating him (which has always been my personal favorite).  The Rejection Hotline has phone numbers set up in major cities across the country that you can give out freely.  The person leaves you alone, thinking they've scored, and when they try calling you a couple of days later, they simply get a recorded message that says, "Hello, this is not the person you were trying to reach..."  I love it.  I just wish they had a Winona number (not that I'm exactly beating the guys off with sticks or anything, sleazy or otherwise).

I have bad news.  I went to see my urologist on Thursday for my 3-month follow up.  I got x-rays taken and waited to be seen.  First he asked how I've been feeling, and I told the truth.  I've been a bit disappointed to still have some sporadic pain.  For a good month after the ureteroscopy, I was able to convince myself that it was just "leftover" pain from the trauma of the surgery.  And it really is very occassional.  But when I do get pain, it's not just a little twinge...it hurts!

But, I digress.  He just said, "OK," and popped my films up on the light box.  He left the room right then for something (before he looked at them), so I was checking them out before he got back.  Now, mind you, I worked in geriatrics and I've never been good at looking at x-rays.  If someone snaps their leg in half, I can pick that out, but I'm not good for much more than that.  But I spotted them right away.  Just because I'm so bad at interpreting films, I thought I was mistaken.  So as soon as the doctor came in, I gestured to two little flecks in the approximate kidney area -- one on the left and one on the right.  "What are these?" I asked.  I was so hoping he was going to tell me they were dust or some sort of bubble in the film or else something that belonged there -- basically, that I'm an idiot.  Oh, no.  "Those, I'm sorry to say, are stones."  That's right.  Two fresh little kidney stones, not even 3 months after I got my urinary tract scraped clean.

What really gets me, aside from the fact that I'm still paying on my first surgery (I haven't even got the bill from the 2nd one), is that I'm now spending $30 a month for medications to supposedly impede new stone formation.  And one of my new pills is a diuretic, so I have to pee 49 times a day (I'm exaggerating, but only a little).  I was really hoping for at least a year with unclogged kidneys.

The doctor wanted to know what I wanted to do (which I read to mean, when did I want to schedule my next surgery).  I laughed at him and told him that I couldn't afford to do anything but suck it up at this point, which is entirely true.  So he wrote an order for a 24-hour urine collection (which I did yesterday -- yippee!!) to see just how effective (or ineffective) my new meds are and I went on my merry way.  I cried a little on my way back to work.  This is just too much. 

So now what?  The only thing I can think of at this point is to sit down next Saturday and drink a gallon & a half of water as quickly as possible and lay on my side, hoping for the best.  At least when they're small, they should be able to come out.  The bigger one (on the right side), though, looked like it was right in my renal pelvis, so why it's still sitting there, I have no idea.  It's not like I don't drink a lot of water as it is.

Well, that's my story.  I'm sore, upset, and $3000 and a lot of pain later, I have absolutely nothing to show for my troubles.  Oh, well.  At least I have health insurance...

Check this ad out and tell me if you don't think this is the most incredibly offensive thing you've seen in a long time.  And, yes, it's a real, honest-to-god advertisement. 

On a lighter note, however, I just finished watching Margaret Cho's Cho Revolution...hilarious!  In one of the bonus features she mentioned George W. Bush was a cheerleader in high school.  Now there's a visual picture that perks me right up...  :-)