Two in a Year: Stoned

Caution: the following post is not for the squeamish. There are some candid details about the genitourinary system in this blog, because A) I'm a nurse and I like to talk about this kind of thing; B) I have a four-and-three-quarters year-old who asks a lot of questions; and C) Well frankly, it's been consuming me for the last few weeks and totally putting a kink in my ~~shopping budget~~ spring plans.

As a reference, I'm providing a very technical diagram of my insides.

Yes, I wish my hips really were that close together.

Okay, so to save some time... Go read this. And this. There. Now are you up-to-date on my medical history? No, it's not just a way to get more hits on my blog, it's just because I'm lazy and have no energy to tap it all out on my keyboard right now.

The long and the short of it: my pee parts are full of rocks. Big rocks. That need to come out. Because they're starting to cause some problems, not to mention some P-A-I-N.

But because of the bleeding thang, (try to keep up with my issues, okayyyyy?) I'm not a "desirable candidate" for the standard treatment, lithotripsy, so instead I have to have this horribly barbaric procedure called a ureteroscopy, where the urologist inserts a -- CAUTION! THIS IS THE ICKY PART. And, of note, any assortment of words that follow the term insert will usually be icky. Just sayin' -- camera/tube/laser/scope/torturedevice thingy (shudder) through the urethra (read: pee exit) up through the bladder (read: pee container) through the ureter into the kidney (read: pee maker) to locate the stones, laser them to break them up and retrieve as many pieces as possible. For those that remain, she leaves a stent in place (shudder again) to keep the passage open so they can make haste and get the heck on out of my body.

I know, so gross. And so horrifying to think of cameras going in to places that are, for lack of a better term, exit-only.

I told you, right? Ick. So ick.

Confession: I'm a little bit skeerd. It seems like I always have some sort of dramatic hypotensive/hives/hemorrhaging crises after minor procedures, so I'm a little on alert. But I know I just need to pull up my Spanx, take it like a big girl, and trust God to take care of all my pee parts.

Good news is, I'll have lots of time to indulge in my newest obsession, Downton Abbey (swoon). Oh buggah, how I love that show. I think Chris is a little tired of me always talking in my fake British accent. By the end of next month, the majority of these stones will be gone so I'll be able to get back to enjoying my ~~shopping~~ spring.

Just so you don't have a lingering image of my insides on your mind as you read my blog, I'll offer a few pics of my beauties to erase the icky illustration from your brain.