Stoned in a bad way

Some people get stoned passing joints. Some by passing the bong. How do I get stoned? By deposits of calcium passing through my urinary tract. Yep, that's right. Timothy suffered a kidney stone today. Here's what happened.

I was working in the Writing Center this morning when all of a sudden, while tutoring an unassuming ESL student, I felt a stabbing pain in my right flank. I grimaced through the session, but the pain got worse. After several trips to the restroom involving failed attempts to agitate the release of what I assumed to be a trapped pocket of gas, I told my boss I was outta there, mistaking the lower flank pain for stomach cramps indicative of a virus.

When I got home, I doubled over. Kidney stones are the most painful thing I've experienced, y'all. Deep, stabbing pain. Get-right-with-Jesus pain. I called my dad and told him I thought I was dying, and he told me to go to the doctor. It was hard to drive, but I decided to go, because at that point I was afraid my appendix was about to explode, and if I have to die young, it better be from hard living and fast driving, not appendicitis.

At the doctor's office on campus, I was poked and prodded where it hurts, made to pee in a cup and hand it to a technician through a drive-thru-esque window, and told I had kidney stones and must proceed immediately to the ER. So that's what I did, with much pomp and ceremony, in fact.

The folks at Student Health had a UT PD officer drive me over to the UT teaching hospital's ER, where I got the full-on sick treatment: a hospital gown, a ride on a stretcher (even though I was perfectly capable of walking), blood work, another round of cup-peeing, and even a CAT scan. I fear I shall forever be in love with the radiologist who scanned my CAT (is that what they scan?); he was so funny and nice, insisting that he take me for a spin on the stretcher when I told him it was my first ER visit.

My doctor was a resident in the hospital who wore bright orange Crocs, which incidentally didn't look as horrible on her as they do on most people. She was really nice, but kind of embarrassed to say the names of the male sex organs: "Are you experiencing and pain in your *whispers* testicles? Remember to wipe with an antiseptic towelette before you pee in the cup...you know your *whispers* penis." It was quite endearing, actually, and had the situation been different, I'd have made fast friends with her and probably we'd have plans for drinks on Thursday night.

Since the stone was small enough, I was sent home to pass it (no catheterizing today, thankfully), complete with a prescription for high-powered pain pills and an order to drink lots of fluids. As my prescription was being filled at the Walgreens, I ran across the street for a chocolate milkshake, because after the day I had, I think I deserved one. Plus I hadn't eaten all day, having spent the majority of my morning-afternoon on a stretcher in an ass-exposing white gown. Then I came home and zonked out for an hour, which would have lasted longer if my overly-concerned mother would have stopped calling to make sure I was still breathing.

I'm feeling finer than frog hair now, with only minimal guilt for not going to any classes today or working on that paper I wanted to have finished by Wednesday. I'll kick it into gear tomorrow, surely. Besides, I think today warrants a night off, don't you?