Where shall we begin? I've been writing this in bits and pieces. Tim warned me to be careful of the Internet while I was on pain meds -- I'd hate to write anything too embarrassing.
But here's the update -- on Monday I underwent the lithotripsy procedure. My brother Ed drove me and I went in with a positive attitude, looking forward to solving the painful stone dilemma that has been piercing my back for longer than I care to recount. Silly me. I gave no thought to how painful the actual process of getting rid of the rock might be. I just wanted it over.
The procedure was relatively successful. Before I succumbed to the anesthesia, one of the techs in the operating room looked at the x-ray and commented that the rock looked good -- it was the type that responded well to be sonically busted up. I made a couple jokes, told everyone I would see them on the other side, breathed deeply, and sunk into the void of general anesthesia. The procedure took just over an hour, apparently, and after blasting the stone the doctor inserted a stent between my right kidney and bladder.
When I came to in the recovery room, I was immediately overwhelmed with bursts of crippling pain shooting up my side and down into my bladder. The nurse gave me two intravenous shots of pain killers that did nothing to quell the agony. Then, in an example of hospital administration that can only be described as barbaric, they told me to get dressed because I was going home and they needed the bed. My brother helped me get dressed and minutes later I was on the highway, writhing and sweating.
They sent me home with a couple of prescription, which I began downing as quickly as I could. The next 48 hours are a blur. No sleep. Fits of searing pain. Delirium from the after-effects of anesthesia combined with pain meds. I could lay down, I couldn't stand up. There was no comfort to be had anywhere. Eventually I discovered that I could pile pillows in my favorite recliner, plop down, cross my legs, grip two more pillows to my stomach and fall forward into a semi-relaxed position. I drifted between consciousness and blessed unconsciousness, interrupted by startling bursts of cramps and spasms.
And then, almost like a miracle, it stopped. Wednesday morning, around daybreak, everything let up. And I collapsed on the bed, restful for the first time since Sunday. At some point I grabbed the laptop and posted a note on Facebook to let people know I was okay. The balance of Wednesday was tolerable and I ate some soup. No drugs that day. I was determined to clear my head and regain my appetite.
The nurse called and I told her what I'd been through. She apologized and said it wasn't always that way. There's just no way of knowing what to expect. I told her that, since I had never done this before, I just figured that whatever I encountered was a natural part of the process. She promised me that they could get me stronger drugs if it happened again. But, I'm not looking for more meds. At least, not right now.
Last night I went to bed hopeful. Perhaps I would finally have a normal night's sleep. But it was not to be. In the middle of the night I was shaken awake by another round of side-splitting spasms. And worse, I was enduring it without chemical assistance. But I decided to just gut it out. It lasted for about a half hour and then subsided enough that I could prop myself up with pillows and sleep a bit longer. This morning the game was again afoot. And then whatever was passing through my system appears to have made its way out. I'll spare you the details.
And that's where I'm at as of 2:00 pm on Thursday, December 9, 2010. I'm foggy-brained. I'm tired, tired, tired. But I'm not agonizing at the moment. So, I'm grateful. And God is still, as at all times, good.
What's next? Well, I return to the surgical unit on Tuesday. They'll do some x-rays and if the stone is gone, they'll remove the stent, and I have a new lease on life. If a significant portion of the stone remains, they'll blast again and we're essentially back at the beginning. Another week, another set of x-rays, and then the stent removal. So, if you're of a mind to pray for my well-being, pray that the stone is fully gone when they take the photos this Tuesday. That's the best possible outcome.
Thank you for the many, many emails and FB posts. Thank you for the prayers. I am looking forward to having this behind me and getting back to the work of promoting the gospel of grace.
My dear friend, Elder Barney Johnson, will be preaching at GCA this Sunday. I can always count on him and the folk at GCA love him. I'm grateful to Tom and Tim who have been tag-teaming the pulpit in my absence. It's good to know that I can leave the sheep in their hands, trusting that all is well. And I'm grateful to the folk at GCA who have loved me and cared for me through this trial. You are all in my thoughts and prayers and I know that He who began this good work in you will fully complete it, all the way to the day of Christ's return.
I will now resume my former reclining position.
