Stones

So.

I am having some kidney stones obliterated on Monday, in hopes for a full recovery by the time I have to get on a plane on Thursday to attend my brother's senior thesis exhibit in St. Louis.

This is madness, folks.

The pain started on Tuesday morning. Convinced (deluded) that it was back pain, I proceeded as normal. When I got to work, the pain was excrutiating to the point where my boss was going in and out of focus as he talked to me.

I decided to leave. I had an ultrasound scheduled for the following day for something entirely unrelated. At the appointment, I convinced the technician to take a look at the ol' kidney, on the down-low. She agreed, but said it was not an official diagnosis. She showed me my cute stone on the monitor and said "I think you can pass it."

I thought "Think is not good enough!" I couldn't stand the idea of not knowing, of potentially being in pain for another two weeks, of not being able to attend my brother's show. Unacceptable. I briefly went to work and again couldn't concentrate. The pain was getting better, but I decided to make an appointment with a urologist for the following day.

The urology appointment was fabulous. "The office" was an old apartment, complete with wall-to-wall blood red carpet and hideous plaid couches. The receptionist was about 50 years old and no bigger than me, with bright orange lipstick and a zebra-print outfit. She was adorable and encouraging, and said things like "Where do you get your pants? They're short!" and "Your glasses - I too have a small face - where did you get them?" She asked that I sit beside her while she processed my paperwork ON A TYPEWRITER. Yes!

When the paperwork was over, I said "Umm... do you have a restroom? I have to, well, you know, I'm sorry, like every 5 minutes" and she said "We get a lot of that around here. Don't worry." She smiled and said "You should leave me a sample in one of these" and handed me a plastic cup. Literally. A white plastic cup that you'd drink beer from at a party. Heh.

After I collected my sample, I walked into the doctor's office, which was, well, an office. Huge brown desk, encyclopedias, and no fewer than 4000 owl knick-knacks decorating the room. There was even a four foot 3D cardboard owl that somebody had made. The doctor himself was older than dirt - he is at least 70 years old. Very nice, very zany, said things like "What are you - 92 pounds?" Yes! and "Have you done any travelling lately, to warmer climates, like Florida?" Yes! I handed him my sample and he was like "Just put it on the desk."

When he analyzed it, he didn't wear gloves. The "exam room" was pretty much in the office. He put the sample down and then said "Oh, wait, which one is yours?" Heh. The urinalysis was cool - he put a droplet on something that looked like a piece of pH tape. He fed it into a machine that printed out a little receipt with all of the data on it, including a blood urine level of 4. He gasped.

He said "You have a stone." We discussed options, and I said "Listen, I am supposed to go to Washington DC tomorrow. I need to know if this is going to pass. I need to know if this is going to be agony. It's very important that I go to DC because my boyfriend and I have been fighting. If there's any chance that this thing is going to pass while I'm there, I need to not go because it will make things worse between him and I."

The receptionist was alarmed and on my side, so she said "Honey, you can go right now to get a CT scan, go, NOW!" I headed back up to the same place I'd been the day before. It took about five minutes. The receptionist called about half an hour later and said "You have a 4 mm stone. It's not going to pass. You also have three other small ones still in the kidneys. We don't know what will happen with those. We're going to get you in on Monday for the procedure. You have to come in for bloodwork. Where are you now?"

Luckily I'd been heading back in that direction to go see "Sin City," so I changed my trajectory and walked back to the office, had my blood taken (which proved difficult - the doctor kept saying "Why don't you have any blood? Come on! COME ON, BLOOD!"), and scheduled the appointment.

Shit.

I was in a fabulous mood yesterday. Why? Knowledge. Knowledge is power. There's a great deal of uncertainty in my life right now - nowhere to live, financial ruin upcoming, other health-related issues looming, depressive episodes at work involving crying in the bathroom for no reason, loneliness, potential breakup with D on the horizon - but man. It felt good to have someone say "This is what's going on," and then present solutions. It felt good to be able to say "YES!" to something. It felt good to know that one of these sources of pain/uncertainty/stress is going to be removed.

Granted, this is going to cost me a $350 deductible as well as 20% of the cost of the procedure (which is awshummm given that my cost of living is soon going to increase by exorbitant amounts) as well as all of my sick days, but whatever. It's all funny at this point.

I was also in a fabulous mood because I met nice people. Really nice, quirky, wholesome people who talked to me and took interest in me and who collect owls. It was the first time since I've moved here that someone took interest in me. Yes, I paid them for this, but it still felt nice to have actual contact with people who are looking out for my well-being. Plus, it was like a sitcom. This doctor - man, he's been practicing medicine since before DNA was discovered. That's NUTS.

I then went to see "Sin City," which was amazing. I won't go on about it. Aside from a few lack-of-depth issues, it was phenomenol.

I have decided not to go to Washington DC. D doesn't seem to care, which makes me sad. I don't know what's going to happen with us. I'll probably spend the weekend watching movies, convincing myself that D is going to break up with me when he gets back. Well, he can't break up with me until 11am Monday because I asked him to meet me after the procedure because I am not allowed to go home by myself. I have to talk to him about this, because I feel like he might be put out by it. I guess I just wish, when I asked, that he'd said "Of course, and is there anything else I can do?" I guess I just wish that LBF or RR or M or Sister were here, because I'd have asked them instead.

In preparation for this, I get to drink Magnesium Citrate and not eat after 3pm on Sunday. This is going to be especially wonderful given my mood as of late, and given the stir-craziness I'll be experiencing after so much missed work and lack of human contact and kindness.

New York sucks.

Truth be told, readers, I am thinking of leaving. It doesn't make sense financially or emotionally, especially given what's going on with D and I. I am here for him. At times like these, when no immediate support system is available for me and I feel needy, which I rarely do, I realize that he is not here for me.

I think he doesn't want to be needed.

Which is sad, because is there really any better feeling than feeling like you are important to someone you supposedly love? I guess the conclusion to be drawn from this is that perhaps he doesn't really love me.

I don't even want to think about that.

Ummmmm.

So. I am going to transition my clothes and make a pile of clothes/shoes to sell to Beacon's Closet. I will put the cash towards pots and glasses and a broom and whatever other things I'll need for my new expensive and microscopic apartment.

I haven't been blogging because I've been so depressed. I swore this would be optimistic, but it is not.

It's because I talked to D and he was disinterested and said "Well, get some rest this weekend," and then hung up. I really wish he'd say "I wish you were coming" or "Give me a call if you need to" or "I miss you" or "I love you."

Wish me luck, kids! Maybe I'll blog post-anesthesia. That could be funny.

Yeah.

It's all just fucking funny.