I may die.
Let's just put that out there right now. The pain from these little bastards, and have no doubt they are tiny, yet painful, is enough to make me want to yak.
Now, I am not sure what type of torture artist my current doc is, but she prescribed no pain pills other then pyridium. That makes your pee-pee bright freakin orange. Neon orange. Like toxic waste in the toilet bowl. It is purty. So I cannot really tell if I am having blood in the pee-pee. Nice.
Also peeing through a strainer, is not what I consider a fun time in the big city if you know what I mean. Actually it is quite revolting, but I have to fucking strain for stones. Like bowling for soup, it makes no fucking sense to strain your own urine. I mean sure you want the proof of the pain, but damn it, I don't want to have to play in toxic waste orange piss. Not cool. Not fun. And mostly gross.
I managed to pass at least one tiny stone today. It is about the size of a pepper flake. A black pepper flake. Not red pepper flake. But a small, shouldn't hurt tiny black pepper flake sized stone. And I have yet more floating in my kidneys, because you know, my body loves me.
I almost yakked this evening, after about what felt like hours upon hours of pain in my back and wrapping around to my abdomen. Only it was more like 5-7 minutes tops. Still, the thought of yakking was pretty appealing after that. And I have a fear of throwing up. That should tell you how bad it is. I also told Rob to hit me on the fucking head with a hammer, because at least it would knock me out and I wouldn't feel the pain.
Sigh. He won't do it.
I may end up going to urgent care tomorrow if it continues, because if it does, I will not be able to function coherently.
And let's not even get into how much of a jerk Spenser was being with his friend, that he begged to have come over. Sigh.