Sideline SquawkBox

Week 4...It's still on!!

Well, it's still attached. I wake up every morning with the thought that maybe--just maybe--it vanished overnight. But it's always there, biting down on my lower limb like a steel bear trap.

INTO THE BELLY OF THE BEAST

It's been a while since I posted anything about the continuing saga of my wretched rehab on this blog. Come to think of it, it's really been a while since I posted anything at all on this blog (several of you dear readers have reminded me of this, thank you very much). In fact, were it not for this rather innocent little post over two years ago (ok, so it's NOT so innocent), I honestly suspect traffic on this blog would rapidly be approaching nil, the posting has been so sporadic. By the by--why are people still searching for this pixelated pixie? Does she even have a recording contract any more? I mean, it's a great photo and all--but it was two years ago fer chrissakes!! But I digress...

Back to the point. Me not posting. I'm about to. And it's the personal stuff again. Feel free to bail now. If you need catching up, check out the Personal archives. There's just too many links to individual articles for me to list them all here. Mostly, it's a whole lot of stories about accidents (yes, plural) and rehabs, personal struggles-- where I've been and where I'm going. Good stuff in there--I promise. Now, on to the latest...

THROUGH THE MEDICAL MILL...

I was at the doctor's office today. It's really not important which one, there are so many with me lately. As I was about to leave and was paying my obligitory co-pay (why do we pay for insurance anyway, if there's always a co-pay?) I inquired about my account balance. As it is, there's always some sort of deductible that must be met each year before the health insurance fully kicks-in (see previous parenthetical question). To my surprise (and dismay), I had already met the requirements of this deductible. Here it is, the beginning of May, for chrissakes, and I've already been to the doctor enough to have satisfied the deductible portion of healthcare insurance!

I spent most of my adult life (and childhood, for that matter) never going to visit doctors of any kind. It's not that I don't trust them or anything (well, maybe),  it's just that I've never really required their services. The past four years since my accident, all that has changed. I have more than made up for a lifetime of not visiting the doctor. Over the past four years, on what has seemed like a fairly routine basis, I have seen: neurologists, neurosurgeons, orthopedists, orthopedic surgeons, urologists, general practitioners, physical therapists, occupational therapists, speech therapists, kidney specialists, bone specialists, post-traumatic psychiatrists, psychologists, physician assistants of every ilk, dermatologists, MOHS surgeons, plastic surgeons--oh, and every six months I go to the dentist to get my teeth cleaned. I have had it up to HERE (straightened hand up to throat line) with going to see doctors every other friggin' week.

And then there's the medicine. I also spent most of my life not taking so much as an aspirin when I had a headache, I simply don't believe in the stuff. Over the past four years, I've routinely been prescribed or been on at one time or another topamax, neurontin, baclofen, codeine, morphine, fentanyl, dilantin, hydrocodone, percocet, vicodin, lortab, heparin, lovenox, coumadin, and a whole host of psychotropic drugs when I was in the ICU that I can't even pronounce! To this day, I still ingest a daily regimen of pills whose side effects include drowsiness, inability to concentrate, and general stupor--that's right--stupor! Enough already--STOP!!

End of rant...I just needed to vent. You are now free to continue your day.

LITHOTRIPSY

As promised, today I will give you give you an update on my 'battle with the stone'. Yesterday, I underwent lithotripsy, the procedure whereby sound shockwaves are passed through the body and pulverize the little bastard into harmless litlle grains of sand, which can than be passed safely out of the body through the urine. The impressive machine that does this nasty business (pictured on the right) is so effective and efficient at doing its job, in fact, that no one hospital is allowed to have exclusive rights over its services--it travels around like a circus act to many different hospitals to strut its stuff.  In fact, had I not been scheduled for yesterday morning, I would have had to wait another week until the machine rotated back to my region again (I'll let you in on a little secret--the pain was so great, I would have followed this machine on tour like DeadHead fan).

So revered is this machine, it gets its own dedicated suite in the hospital for its weekly gig. As I went in for treatment, I was reminded of 'The Miracle of Birth' scene from Monty Python's  "The Meaning of Life" where they made sure they had the machine that goes 'ping', and of course "the most expensive machine in the hospital" all lined up for the impending delivery. I would very much like to tell you all the great details of what this expensive, impressive, medical miracle machine does to pulverize minute clacified kidney stones, but alas, I have no idea...I was put asleep for the whole 45 minute procedure.

Instead, I'd just like to share a few observations about the day in general and continue on about the pain theme I began yesterday. I arrived with my sister at the hospital at 6 AM ( the procedure was to begin at 7AM) for the obligatory paperwork/ ID bracelet thingee. I was then told i needed an X-ray. Mind you, on my Doctor's orders, I had brought the X-rays I had just taken the previous day, plus the cat scan images of the stone 48 hours prior to that. How much radiation can one man take? I guess the hospital thought that my stone's travel schedule was similar to the lithrotripsy machine's travel schedule, so off I went to X-ray. From there, I went straight up to the fifth floor where a nurse and I repeated the same paperwork I had just filled out in Admissions, she collected blood and urine, and left me alone for a while.

As I looked at the clock, I realized it was close to procedure time. Being no stranger to hospitals or to surgery (unfortunately) I began to do a mental checklist in my head: insurance/administrative/medical history paperwork--check, blood sample--check, urine sample--check, blood pressure--check, baseline body temperature--check, pulse--check, conference with anaestheseologist--check. The only thing that remained was--I was still comfortably and dignifiably dressed in my street clothes.

You're not reading an eye chart these days in any American hospital without first disrobing and donning one of those paisley hospital gowns. You know the ones, they never really fit right, they tie up in the back so your entire ass can be seen by anyone walking behind you. My sister and I had a rip roaring good time discussing how this celebrity machine-- with sound waves powerful enough to make it through my skin, several layers of dermis and muscle, bone, the kidney organ itself, and then smash the stone to smithereens--could not possibly penetrate the chain mail mithril polo shirt I was wearing that day. Sure enough, not a minute later, I was instructed to discard my suit of armor in favor of the flimsy robe and slippers. There really ought to be a place in the lobby of all hospitals where, upon arrival, you can just don the uniform immediately, and put your clothes in a locker, so your family isn't forced to carry your shit around with them for the rest of the day. I mean, at some point, you're gonna be wearing that gown, no matter what, why not just get it over with up front?

As the minutes passed away into an hour, I began to get the sense that something was very wrong. My worst fear was confirmed when the doctor came in and told me that, against all odds, the machine had broken down. I don't remember all the details of what he said, just a few key words--reschedule, next week, apologize, tough break, never happened before... My head began to swim as I thought about living with this pain for another week. I would rather jump off a bridge, thank you very much. Just then, the technician who operates the machine, came in and told me he had located a part for it in Connecticut, if I was willing to hang around for a few hours he was confident he could have the machine back online and pulverizing stones by the afternoon. The choice was obvious, and although it was a rather boring wait (I was not allowed to leave the floor) I got my stone crushed. Now it's just a matter of passing the debris out. Oh, and there's still this rather painful business of getting this stent removed...

 

"IT'S A REAL PAIN IN THE KIDNEYS..."

Pain and death are a part of life. To reject them is to reject life itself. -Havelock Ellis The greatest evil is physical pain. -St Augustine

There is no coming to consciousness without pain. -Carl Jung

If you think about it, all physical pain is absolutely relative. We all remember the grim pictures of the man who leapt to his death from the Trade Center on September 11th rather than face the unbearable pain of burning alive. Faced with that choice, what would you have done? I don't know either, because I have no idea what 12,000 degrees of heat feels like on my skin. The pain of instantaneous deceleration into the Manhattan sidewalk from 87 floors up was obviously preferable to this man at that particular point in time--all pain is relative.

As a NYC Police Officer for most of my adult life, I bore witness to incredible amounts of pain and suffering on the streets of New York--it is truly amazing how savage human beings can be to one another. I saw people that were bludgeoned, beaten, shot, stabbed, beheaded, raped, kneecapped, hanged, castrated, scalped, de-limbed, and a host of other indescribable things for reasons ranging all the way from the muti-million dollar drug cartel hit to the "he stepped on my sneakers, man!" I've also seen pain manifest itself in hundreds of everyday automobile and industrial accidents. As a cop, you become almost numb to the pain you see every day.

In my personal life, I'm also no stranger to pain. If you've read this blog before, or if you know me, you know that I had a devastating accident with a bus back in 2001. I really can't say it was painful hitting a ten ton bus head on at 60 mph (although I'm sure it was), because I was sleeping at the time and I didn't wake up until a month and a half later. I do know that the rehab that followed was quite painful, and the arthritis I have now as a result of that accident is also very painful. The second accident, which, by the way, I was very awake for, was extremely painful. And the rehab that followed (which continues as of this writing) is still painful. But the point I'm trying to bring out, in my verbose and overblown style as usual, is nothing, NOT ONE THING--none of the suffering I witnessed as a cop; not even my own run in with 20,000 lbs. of commuter bus--could have prepared me for the pain that I am experiencing right now from a 6mm calcified kidney stone that's lodged itself in that most delicate of places.

That such a tiny object--no larger than a pinhead really--can cause such irritation and reduce a man of my size to a quivering pile of dysfunction is mind boggling. The truly ironic part of the story is the fact that the very medicine I take to keep me out of pain on a daily basis is what is causing me to form the stones in my kidneys! Yes, folks, this is not the first time I have done battle with the stones--the first time was back in March of last year, but that one passed (mercifully) in six agonizing days. This stone, however, is too large to simply "pass" through with copious amounts of water. I was told I would need a 'stent' placed inside my ureter, because the stone was actually blocking the urine flow from my kidney, and left unchecked, could compromise the kidney itself (ouch!)

My real problems started once the stent was inserted. Oh, it did it's job alright. The stone actually moved back inside the kidney (I'm told that's what's supposed to happen) and urine flow was restored. Problem is, the stent is causing my bladder to clench and spasm uncontrollably. It's what doctor's often refer to as 'uncomfortable'. It's what you and I refer to as 'f**king unbelievable pain!!! The pain is one hundred times worse than the stone, and it is unbearable. The next step in the process is Lithotripsy--ultrasound shockwaves to break up the stone so it can be passed. After the urologist is convinced that the entire stone has passed (probably a few days) then, and only then, can I have the stent removed. I've read horror stories about stent removal. I've heard it's the most painful part of the whole ordeal. Oh joy. I can hardly wait. I just have to keep reminding myself that pain is relative. I'll keep you posted...