I decided last week that I wouldn’t write about the kidney stone surgery Friday as I have written about other treatments and surgeries. I’m not used to writing about such private parts, even in general and non-specific ways. My mother always insisted we had high morals living in New England, curious feelings from someone whose family of immigrant Jews was fresh off the boat from Ukraine.
I believe in sharing these experiences; people tell me they can be helpful.
And some people I know well, and trust wrote to me urging me to be open about this surgery as I have been about the last one.
I did learn a lot, and it was not what I expected. Actually, I had no idea what to expect, and no one spent much time preparing me for what would come.
I’m a big fan of my doctors and their medicine – no complaints -, but I have noticed that in these surgeries, the discussion ends with the surgery – after you leave the hospital, you are on your own.
If you run into trouble, you can call a nurse and hope one is on duty or, as is more likely, get to Urgent Care.
I should have known better than to think this was a minor and painless thing.
As I was wheeled into the operating room, I asked my doctor what shape I would be in when I left the hospital.
“Oh, don’t worry,” he said, “this isn’t as painful as it used to be.”
I gulped. That was the last thing I remember. I never saw the doctor again.
He did a great job, and it seems the surgery went well. But it was strange to say the least.
Dybbuks took over my body, and I spent most of the weekend in the bathroom trying to do things I was supposed to do but were impossible to do.
I was shamed about every ten minutes. Dignity went right out the window.
The more I think about it, the more I see I need to write about it. So I will.
It’s what I do.
That is the reason alone to share the experience. It might be helpful.
So I will. Being open is being open, but I will also be restrained and recall my mother’s curious Calvinist streaks.
I think she thought this was a way of assimilating, and New Englanders can be stuffy and superior.
We were a family of prudes, and I am a lifelong prude. I love sex but consider it inappropriate to talk about it.
And I rarely curse or talk dirty. But this story isn’t at all about sex, which I do not expect to be experiencing for a while. I’m not sure why I’m even mentioning it, other than the fact I hope it is one day possible again. This surgery was awkward, uncomfortable, and embarrassing.
Think of humiliation and degradation.
That means I should write about it for sure. It’s never good to surrender to fear and hiding.
“I’m writing to ask you to write about it,” said a friend and longtime blog reader. “I think it would be helpful to a lot of people. A lot of men will need to know about it. ”
I think that might be true.
I have never written about so personal an intimate issue as a kidney stone surgery.
Almost every organ in my body went into shock on Friday. I spent a lifetime in our bathroom this weekend.
This was after a soundwave barrage; nobody even touched me when I entered the operating room. But my body felt like it was on a war’s front lines.
So I will be cautious and restrained but write about it. I can’t do it tonight; I am tired and must return to my Martin Luther King biography. And I’m still a little reluctant to share this experience. I see I’m getting over that. I’ll be ready by tomorrow.
It’s a good time to think about it. It’s not over yet by any means, and I’ll be ready by the morning.
I will be asleep shortly; I will just read my book and wait for Maria to return from belly dancing. I have to make her something to eat, although she’ll be in bed by 9 p.m. sound asleep. I hope she got a photo taken dancing with a sword on her head; I’ve been eager to see that.
Thanks for jogging me to write about this. I needed that.
I think it will be very helpful to share this lived experience.
Jon, you brought up an interesting topic that needs a closer look, IMO. Similar to you, I had a minimally invasive “procedure” done last Monday but no one warned me what recovering from it would be like. Like you, I was given a list of warnings, that if any of these things should occur, call the surgery center or Urgent Care if after hours. That I understand and appreciate. But what I wish I had also been given was information about how I should expect to feel after receiving “mild sedation” or other meds that went along with this procedure. And how long these unwell feelings might be expected to last. I had the mistaken belief that the bounce-back time would be minimal since this was not “surgery”. While I would expect the time to vary, depending on the patient, I also think the doctors probably have a general idea about the length and severity of normal aftereffects.
Gosh! It sounds as if the health/recovery/healing really began after the hospital visit was over. Taking time to reflect (and rest) sounds wise. This is only one vote in the mix, but your health discussions have been valuable to read. One example was the discussion of sleep apnea and the stages of adjustment to the mask. It was very informative and helpful that you walked us through the stages of problem resolution, and the rewards of persistence and collaboration with the care team. But whatever and whenever you write, it will be something to look forward to.
My husband had the same surgery, blasting large kidney stones with ultrasound waves. The urologist was honest with him, telling him that the problem with blasting the large kidney stones, is that it blasts them into hundreds of smaller kidney stones. The stones are small enough to pass, but it will still be exceedingly painful. So, it certainly isn’t a quick fix.
I believe this process is radically less painful than waiting a large kidney stone to move through and out. But everyone’s experience is different. I have no regrets about getting this one blasted.