Ten years old today!

Dear blog

Happy birthday! I can't believe you're ten years old already. I know I've been neglecting you a bit of late. But let's be honest. You're a bit passé. A bit behind the times. A bit old-fogeyish. I've been hanging out with some new, hipper friends. Perhaps you've heard of them? Their names are Facebook and Twitter.

But don't worry. I promise I won't abandon you completely. After all, you're my firstborn, and as such you'll always have special place in my heart. You brought me out of my shell, gave me the confidence to share my views not only on walking, but on other topics such as music, art, books, cones, philosophy and munted body parts.

And through you I've gotten to meet lots of interesting people. Sure, some of them are a bit ill-mannered. They ask me for advice and when I give it to them they disappear and I never hear from them again. Not even a thank you. But most of them are good people. Some have even become friends. I like to think that walking brings out the best in us.

So once again, happy birthday, blog, and thanks for everything.

Walking Fool

A mystery solved

American Rust is one dark, depressing novel. All of the main characters seem doomed, and I'm not holding out much hope for a happy ending. It's also extremely evocative and very difficult to put down.

In other news, in light of a couple of medical mishaps in recent years which could have turned into medical disasters, I decided to start the New Year by getting a new GP. His first task was to solve a problem which has been dogging me for the last couple of weeks in the form of dizzy spells which hit me first thing in the morning and last for an hour or two. On Tuesday things were so bad I felt quite nauseous.

I had a feeling these had something to do with a drug I'd been taking since I was diagnosed with a kidney stone last October, one of whose effects is to reduce the blood pressure. But what I couldn't understand was that I'd been taking this drug for over two months before the dizzy spells started. The other strange thing was that they appeared to get worse after I stopped taking the drug.

Anyway, I had my first appointment with my new GP yesterday morning, and after quickly checking to make sure my brain and other bits and pieces were working properly, he agreed that the drug was probably to blame. However, he also thought I might have been a bit dehydrated (dehydration being one of the common causes of dizziness). His advice to me was to go home and drink lots of water. So I guzzled down several glasses of water over the course of the afternoon and a couple more in the evening, and lo and behold I woke up this morning feeling almost completely normal. Not drinking enough water is also one of the major cause of kidney stones, so I'll definitely be making a point of keeping up my liquid intake in the future.

Creatinine confusion

Went down to my GP's this morning for a follow-up creatinine test to make sure my kidney is functioning properly. I was convinced this was a urine test, so in an effort to repeat the embarrassment I went through at the hospital the other week when it took me ages to provide a sample, I drank several glasses of water over the course of the morning to the point where I was busting to go. When I got to the doctor's the nurse informed me it was a blood test.

The munted kidney

Monday, 3.10pm. I lie on a wheeled hospital bed in the Emergency Observation Area at Christchurch Hospital, the same bed I've lain on since arriving at the hospital shortly after 9am, waiting to be taken up for a CT scan. To my left is Mrs Fool, a Murakami Haruki paperback in her hand. To my right is a male nurse clutching a diagram of my urinary tract which he's just sketched on a notepad.

"It won’t be confirmed until we get the results of the CT scan, but nine times out of ten we can tell from the patient's description whether or not it's a kidney stone. The level of pain is a good indicator. They say it's enough to make a grown man cry."

"That it is," I say. "That it is"

The nurse closes the notepad and gets up to leave.

"Actually, do you mind if I keep that diagram?" I ask. "I know suckers who're prepared to pay good money for that kind of thing."

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Monday, 6.50am. I awake and immediately become aware of a pain in my lower right abdomen. Is it the groin? Nope, the pain is too high and I can move my leg about without any trouble. I lie still for a while, hoping it will go away, but it doesn't. Moving slowly, I roll out of bed and put on my slippers and dressing gown. I feel a bit unsteady on my feet and slightly nauseous. I make it to the toilet but on the way back decide I'm in no fit state to make breakfast let alone work, so decide to head straight back to bed. The pain worsens. One of the cats jumps on to the bed and snuggles up to my head, intent on getting under the blankets. I appreciate the show of affection but my mind is on other things. Actually, it's on one thing: the pain in my abdomen.

I can't lie still, so I get up and shuffle to the bathroom. I take a Nurofen. Something tells me one won't be enough, so I take another. I walk around, try sitting down, but the pain persists. By this time Mrs Fool is worried. She follows me back to the bedroom, where I crumple onto my knees next to the bed, bury my head in my hands and in the bedclothes and start to sob. It isn't so much the pain, but the despair.

I need help. I ring my GP. The earliest he can see me is 11.15am. It's still only 8.40am. I confirm the appointment, but soon realize I won't be able to wait that long. We decide to go to A&E. As Mrs Fool gets ready, I dress and gather together a few items in case I end up being admitted. I'm able to send a brief email to a client telling them I won't be able to work today. In the car on the way to the hospital the pain worsens, and I sit clutching the handgrip above the door with both hands, moaning.

Mrs Fool drops me off at the entrance to A&E and I check in at reception while she goes to find a car park. She soon returns and together we wait to be called through to be seen by a doctor. There are about a dozen other people in the waiting area. None of them looks as bad off as me. Couldn't I go in first? It's too painful to sit. I'm most comfortable leaning over with my hands on the back of a chair.

Eventually we're called through and I'm asked to lie down in a cubicle. A doctor comes in, and after listening to my account of the morning's events and prodding my stomach, she says she thinks I have a kidney stone. A CT scan will confirm this, but first I need to provide a urine sample. Having just been to the toilet an hour or so ago, I'm unable to comply. Meanwhile I've hooked up to an intravenous drip and given several glasses of water. I've already been given paracetamol and codeine for the pain, but I'm still shaking rather badly and so I'm given morphine. A blood sample is taken. Some time later I manage to produce a small urine sample and the presence of blood in the urine backs up the initial diagnosis.

It's passed midday. I'm booked in for a CT scan at 3.15pm and taken through to the Emergency Observation Area. By this stage the pain has subsided. Mrs Fool, who'd gone home to get some lunch, returns with my iPod and a book but I don’t feel like listening to music or reading. I lie and wait.

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Monday, 3.15pm. An orderly arrives to wheel me upstairs for my CT scan. While I'm there, I also have an x-ray. I'm wheeled down again, but I end up back at the cubicle in A&E instead of in the Emergency Observation Area where Mrs Fool is waiting. We're soon reunited. Half an hour or so later a urologist comes to give me the results. I have a 3mm stone near the end of my ureter (the tube connecting the kidney to the bladder), "high grade obstruction" and developing urinoma (an accumulation of urine around the kidney). As the chances of kidney infection are quite high in people with this latter condition, I'm admitted overnight for observation.

In bed up in the ward, I have a bite to eat then listen to music and read until I feel tired enough to sleep. I go to brush my teeth using the disposable toothbrush Mrs Fool thoughtfully brought along with the book and iPod, but when I rip open the plastic wrapping I find not a toothbrush but a hairbrush. I show it to the nurses when I go to borrow a real toothbrush, and they all have a good laugh.

I manage to sleep well until around midnight, when the pain returns. I'm given some more paracetamol and codeine, and a drug called doxazosin to assist the passage of the stone through to my bladder. I sleep on and off until breakfast time. I eat the cornflakes and fruit, but leave the cold toast.

At around 8.30am the urologist returns (with half a dozen members of her "team") and after a quick examination declares that I'm infection-free and free to go. It takes another hour for the paperwork to be done. Mrs Fool meets me at the main entrance to the hospital at 10am, by which time I've picked up my prescription, including a three-month supply of doxazosin.

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Thursday, 2.00pm. I'm feeling remarkably well. I'm in a bit of discomfort, but I have very little pain, and I'm back to work. I'm still taking some pain medication, but more as a precautionary measure. I haven't touched the codeine they gave me. According to the discharge summary that arrived in the mail yesterday, "there is an estimated 85-90% chance this small stone will be passed spontaneously". No one has actually explained to me what will happen if it doesn't pass "spontaneously", although this post from Russell Brown's blog offers a few hints. Oh, and feel free to send in bids for the drawing.