by Yolonda D. Body (as in the human body) (c) 2013
Dedicated to my Facebook family and friends. Thank you for your prayers.
It was December 22, 2012. All was quiet in the home. I was embarking upon a two-week vacation with no responsibilities. My body was at complete rest for the first time since 2011. Just before 8 a.m., my lower back crawled with pain. I called for my husband to get me two ibuprofren. That usually masked any pain. When he handed the little red pills to me, I could barely keep them in my mouth to get rid of the neverending pain. This one was unlike any other, it was time to go to the emergency room.
Just three-minutes away from the house, I cried for him to stop the car. The red dye from the ibuprofren and foamed spittle surfaced on the asphalt beneath me. The ten minute ride to the hospital felt like an eternity. Just before turning into the parking lot, I vaguely remembered someone telling me that lower back pain meant kidney problems. I then remembered that my last urgent care visit in October warned me that I had protein in my urine which may have something to do with my kidneys. The only thing I kept saying to myself was, "I drink water religiously. I drink cranberry juice. Those were the recommended drinks. Surely I'm not having kidney issues."
I could no longer be in denial when I could barely stand, dress or undress myself, speak, or exist. Something was wrong. The vomiting increased and made my bladder weak. Rather than go into detail, let's just say I became real familar with waterproof hospital pads beneath my bottom for two weeks. It's a good thing I took my grandma's advice to wear clean undies. Now I know why. When the nurse came with the plastic packages containing needles, I did not object. Soon to follow would be the good juice in the form of IV.
Soon after the liquid hydration were the needles and viles for my blood. I learned years ago that my left arm is a turnip. You can't get blood out of its veins. My right arm was well trusted for times such as these. Since my name did not include Dr. in front of it or MD behind it, the nurse disregarded my warning and stuck me in the left arm anyway. After flicking my arm like I was an addict with their fingers to find a viable blood source, the nurse moved to the right arm. As with all the nurses who prick and prod without heading my advice, they say, "Ah! These are the good veins."
Next on the list was the hard stuff.
"This is a narcotic to help with the pain," the nurse said. I didn't argue.
Somewhere between, "Full name and date of birth?" and "Who is your primary care physician?" I fell asleep. Then it was, "I'm here to take your vitals," a phrase I would come to loathe for the next six days. Finally, I was ordered to have a Computerized Tomography (CT) Scan conducted on my abdomen. It would be my first one. When I was younger, I thought only celebrities like Michael Jackson could afford such technology. Then I remembered, "I have insurance!"
My gurney was carted to another part of the hospital for the procedure. The long, white table that reached into the mouth of the doughnut-shaped hole awaited my arrival. I was half awake and half feeling the effects of the narcotics. Because I no longer had on my eyeglasses, I was more concerned about flashing the technician with that open part of the gown than falling over. I still wanted to be decent.
"Inhale. Now breath,." A voice said. I didn't know who was talking. It later registered in my brain that the voice was automated. I didn't know whether to follow the instructions or eaves drop. "Is that lady talking to me?" I wondered and then figured, "Oh yeh? She is." So, I "inhaled" then I "breathed."
By the time I got back to ER room 19, my husband had dozed off. There was no need to bother him except to tell him, "Hey! Guess what? I went through a white doughnut." We both slumbered...until...
"Yay! Well, yay, but not yay! You have kidney stones. I'm happy because that's what I suspected. You have five---two on the left and three on the right. Now take this prescription and follow-up with this urologist. I think the office is open today so you can make an appointment. This pill opens your ureter to help the stone pass. Take this strainer to catch it. This is an antibiotic to prevent infection." The doctor was way too chipper for news like this? I was still trying to figure out how my body became a hostel for kidney stones.
I heard the doctor, but my mind was saying, "What about the vomiting? Why am I throwing up?" My husband's face mirrored my thoughts. He asked. The good doctor replied (oxymoron used here).
"You can take this pill for nausea. Your local pharmacist should have no problem filling these."
We thanked the doctor and tried to remedy my new medical condition. This would prove to be the best of the next seven days. The days that followed included two more ER visits. The vomiting got worse. No stone passed because water nor food would not stay in my body. By the third ER visit, we had reinforcement, my aunt. She was no stranger to hospitals as she has diabetes and know all the medical language. We, the three of us---even me on some new narcotic---demanded that I get admitted. The same routine ensued.
"Name and date of birth?"
"Who is your primary physician?"
"Date of your last cycle?"
"Let me check your vitals?"
"Wow! I can't get a good vein."
"Ah! This arm does have good veins."
"This is going to sting a little."
"This is a narcotic to stop the pain."
By 10 o'clock on December 24, 2012, I was admitted. The kidney stone that had begun moving on December 22, 2012, was the source of my vomiting. It had not passed. It was still blocking my ureter and causing a traffic jam in my body. It had not passed and was not letting anything bypass it (stubborn thing). I Merry Christmas to me.
By December 26, 2012, my heart rate kept dropping and at one point, the medical staff on duty could no longer find my heartbeat. The nurse had a flashlight in my eyes. I freaked out thinking, "Really little stone? Really?" My blood pressure remained low. It was after this ordeal and I figured I needed to start fighting to get better.
Two more CT Scans, two chest X-rays, a sonogram, 15 intravenous rehydration bags, five doses of dilaudid, a few doses of phenergran, daily doses of tomulosin, subpar care---except for a few "do it the old school way" nurses, and three different specialists later, the urologist decided, on December 28, 2012 to place a stent in my kidney. The "tiny" stone would not move and continued to obstruct my world. In order for me to be discharged after the surgery I had to eat and keep the food down. Remember me making a choice to fight, I had practiced keeping my vomiting spells at bay for up to four hours at a time. I suffered, but I wanted to go home. So I decided, whatever I keep down, I could hold it long enough to get released. I couldn't take the hospital "kabookie" any longer (I'm sparing you the details of the moments when one of the nurses forgot to change my IV bag because her phone rang and when my husband and I became the official monitors of my health because nurses forgot to check in or ignored our buzzes, aaaaand the all night outbursts of a neighboring patient calling for people who weren't there).
The chosen meal after the surgical procedure was...WAIT FOR IT...beef meatballs smothered in brown gravy, au gratin potatoes with chives, boiled carrots, peaches, and water.
"You're kidding me!" I exclaimed to my husband.
I could smell the blood from the meat. The last meal I ate and maintained was Friday, December 21, 2012. We're seven days out.
"Get that meat out of here! I can't look at it, or I'll lose it," I said to hubby and then continued. "I'm going to eat a few pieces of carrots, munch on the potatoes, but I know I can eat the peaches. Baby, I'm ready to go home."
I was successful. The food stayed down...until I got home. My life, for the next 13 days would include hosting a foreign object in my body. Funny thing is, I lost 13 pounds since this ordeal happened. I'm just 5 pounds shy of Usher Raymond's abs before his six pack (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3AszPTJXIgM).
Welcome to week 3. The kidney stent is out, and I've been eating for the past 6 days without incident. The follow-up appointment with the urologist brought me to the HOLD THE SALT campaign. I am a kidney stone former because of heredity and my salt intake (I was getting down). According to the medical pamphlet, my salt intake must be reduced to no less than 1500 mg per day and no more than 3000 mg per day. Beef is now like a dessert, I can't eat it often, but can schedule a day to eat it. Sodas are out, but I can drink lemonade.
The bottom line is this, holding the salt will keep me healthier. Changing my eating habits will keep me from ER visits. My little stone was a big eye opener, because there are still four larger stones that remain in my kidneys (I'm scheduled to have those "blasted out..." that's another story for another day). I don't need any more clues about what to do to stay alive and healthy. No matter how much water I drank, my intake inhibited my ability to breath, proper kidney function, and resulted in my dehydration.
So why are you here? Your sodium intake may have adverse effects on your heart, lungs, or even your kidneys. HOLD THE SALT is my way of fighting to keep my dream alive and yours as well. Join me as I stop living to eat and learn to eat to live. God bless you.
For more information on high sodium diets, check out the following sites:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/joel-fuhrman-md/high-salt-diet-_b_821323.html
http://des.nh.gov/organization/commissioner/pip/factsheets/ard/documents/ard-ehp-21.pdf
http://www.livestrong.com/article/440478-side-effects-of-high-sodium/
Special thanks to my husband, Sir Dreck, for really rising up to the vows "in sickness and in health." He slept on that horrible plastic sofa for five nights. This was a Christmas and New Year we'll never forget. Now he has a sinus infection. It's my turn to care for him. Pray for us. :-)
Our apologies for missing Christmas this year, Minah and Myrh. Uncle and Auntie love you. Mama, Jimmy, Keenia, and Shaun, we love you. Thanks for the daily calls and prayers.
Aunt Tessa, I'm glad you're just 9-minutes away. MUAH! Thank you Strains and Colemans for the visits. Uncle Que and Nils, thanks for the heads-up on the family history. To my work family, words just can't express my gratitude for your support. To the Coleman and Bradford families from Connecticut to Florida and even Abu Dhabi (Afrika---inside joke)...I love you.
Facebook family, your prayers got me through. THANK YOU. Extra special thanks to Dr. Nefertiti Childrey in PA. You are the greatest! Thanks for keeping us aware.
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