The Wrath of Coke Zero

I woke yesterday morning to moderate discomfort in my lower abdomen. I assumed it to be acid indigestion or something, so I popped a Zantac and went off to school. This isn't a permanent job that I have right now, it's just for the year, so it's almost like an audition for the real deal [for which the hiring process starts next week]. I only call in or take a day off if I absolutely have to. I prefer to save my sick days for the kids, so I dragged my ass in on Tums and a prayer.

The discomfort turned into full out pain by 10am, at which point my class was called for an assembly to see the 1st grade concert. "Good," I thought, "I can sit on my ass, relax, and collect myself for an hour or so. Maybe it'll go away." Just at that moment, a small child dragged a gong out onto the stage. A GONG? Are you shitting me??? When I was 6, all we did in music class was sing about bluebirds and the farmer in the dell [what the fuck is a dell anyway?]. We certainly did NOT have anything like this. So much for being serenaded by the soft voices of innocent children as I sat on a kiddie-sized cafeteria stool writhing in pain. Gong Show it is. Motherfucker.

The music teacher got on the mic and started reading a book called Thundercake, which is about a grandmother helping her granddaughter get over her fear of thunderstorms. It's a lovely piece of literature until you start adding the sound effects. 2 kids were holding a thin piece of sheet metal to re-enact the sound of thunder, with gong kid banging away and a bunch fiendishly grinning children banging various types of large sticks together. The whole story took about 15 minutes, with every bang of the gong seeming to go straight to my gut. This was it. The 7th circle of hell. I'd finally arrived.

I started shaking and getting all clammy. My head started to hurt, which was exacerbated by the flickering of the cafeteria lights that was meant to simulate lightning. This made the preschoolers cry hysterically, much to the delight of the first graders. Some parents brought younger siblings to watch the show, and they started bawling too. So at that point, I had crying kids in front of me, crying babies in back of me, gongs going off to the side and a cafeteria full of sadistic little bastards laughing at the plight of the small children. All of this going on as I clutched my stomach and tried not to pass out.

I started tilting a little to the side, at which point I must have caught the attention of a few of the other teachers, who asked if I was ok. Were they KIDDING? Would they ask a victim of Chinese water torture if THEY were ok??? NO, I'M NOT FUCKING OK! If they really wanted to help, they would have smothered gong kid and told the pansy-ass preschoolers to shut the fuck up before they got their asses beat. My murderous urges dissipated, however, as the show mercifully ended shortly thereafter. I sprinted out of the cafeteria and went straight to the teacher's lounge to call my doctor for an appointment.

My doctor wasn't much help...she pressed and prodded and found that basically EVERYTHING hurt from the belly button down. She insisted on doing a pelvic exam, which I now see was necessary, but at the time I was NOT thrilled at having ANYTHING in that area, never mind a fucking speculum and a pair of cold hands. She was able to rule out "female problems", and sent me for a cat scan.

Upon my arrival at the hospital, I was order to drink 32 ounces of the most vile substance I have ever ingested. It was red, and tasted like watered down cough syrup mixed with soap. 2 1/2 hour later, I was finally given my scan. The tech told me what she thought the issue was, and told me to go to the waiting room "for a few minutes" until the doctor could confirm it.

A few minutes turned into an hour. Bear in mind, I hadn't taken anything for the pain at this point, which was at the point of excruciating, nor had I eaten in 12 hours. All I wanted to do was go home, swallow whatever narcotics I could find in the medicine cabinet, and go to sleep, but these bastards could not get their shit together. Turns out the doctor on call was not answering the page, so I was apparently being kept there until he was done railing his secretary.

The nurse at the desk [bless her heart] kept calling the x-ray department, trying to get someone to tell me I could go home. She put me on the phone with the head x-ray tech twice. The first conversation was nice and normal, with me slightly frustrated and him assuring me that it would only be 10 more minutes. Half an hour later, I got on the phone again, and I was ripping.

K: "It has been far longer than 10 minutes."
Tech: "I'm so sorry, we're still waiting for the doctor to call back."
K: "Can't someone just CALL me with the results?"
Tech: "It's hospital policy. A doctor has to sign off."
K: "I'm in a shitload of pain. I haven't had anything for it at all."
Tech: "I know, I'm sorry about that."
K: "I'm leaving. Tell your doctor to call me."
Tech: "Ma'am, you can't leave."
K: [starting to get pissed] "Oh really?"
Tech: "Yes. It's policy."
K: "Goddamn, I'll come back if I'm fatal or something, I promise."
Tech: "It won't be much longer. It's policy."
K: "Screw your policy. I'm going home."
Tech: "Ma'am..."
K: "Look. I'm done. Tell your doctor that K said to go F himself. I'm out." [click]

The nurse laughed her ass off. I thanked her for her efforts and ran out of there before the phantom men in white coats caught up with me. I was seriously looking around corners, half expecting to get tackled.

I talked to my own doctor when I got home, who confirmed the diagnosis:

Congratulations! It's a kidney stone, managed by drinking fluids and knocking back pain meds. Apparently, these little suckers can cause excruciating pain and even require surgery if they are found to be blocking a ureter. For now, it seems I don't have a blockage, which is good, but goddamn does it hurt. I had to take two 750mg Vicodin to take the edge off enough that I could sleep last night. Today, I'm sore, but the sharp pains seem to have subsided.

Kidney stones are apparently a naturally occurring malady, but can be exacerbated by excessive consumption of products that contain artificial colors and sweeteners. As you may remember, I posted a while back about my newfound addiction to Coke Zero, when I joked that my 6 liter a week habit would probably lead to ass cancer. Well, it's not ass cancer, but it sucks pretty hard.

Why is it that everything that tastes good is bad for you? It's like God's sick joke or something.