Well, my definition of surgery involves a scalpel, but I think insurance companies have broadened the criteria for surgery to suit their own needs…
If the timing works as advertised, I should be home 12-hours from now. But, because hospitals, even surrounding out-patient procedures, operate (hahahaha) on car dealership-time, I am not going to hold anyone to their timing optimism.
Shortly after mom wrecked the second car in 2017, I ended up in the ER with a case of diverticulitis that presented in such a way that they ran a CT on me. It showed a partially blocking kidney stone. Dear readers of this blog know what the next two years were all about… I never followed up with the ultrasound my doc asked me to get (she’s since absolved of my crappy self-care knowing what those two years were like. She’s super proud of me for keeping up with the usual medical stuff). This spring, two-plus years after that CT, blood showed up in my urine. Long story short, it’s the kidney stone. It’s almost as big as a dime. Go big or go home.
Tomorrow I go in, under general anesthesia, for the placement of a catheter in my right ureter, and to have the stone turned into sand by sound waves. Hopefully, I only have to do this once. The catheter helps the broken up stone pass with less pain and, I assume, irritation to the ureter.
Last month I quipped to my chiropractor, “I must be middle-aged. I had to see a urologist.” She shot back, “What are you talking about?? I had a kidney stone when I was 19!” Laughs all around.
I’ve been fortunate to only experience discomfort. May it continue to be so.