A rolling stone gathers no pot roast
Waiting on test results from the doctor’s office can be excruciating, an anxiety-filled timeline because at my age it could be anything. And as a borderline hypochondriac, I always anticipate the worst.
I try not to think about it, but it’s like telling a high school girl not to think of the disparaging remark a classmate made about her weight on social media. Luckily, in my case, I wasn’t waiting to hear what the spot was on the X-ray or the strange mole on my behind. It was a test regarding my old nemesis, the kidney stone.
Several years ago, I discovered the hard way what type of pain a kidney stone is capable of inflicting. While lying on the floor of my living room writhing in pain calling for my mother, unsure what in the world was going on, the fire department arrived and my friend Calvin showed up with hands on his hips. As I pleaded with him not to call the ambulance, he said OK. Then I heard the sirens approaching.
I am not afraid to admit that my tolerance for pain is at an all-time low. When blood is drawn from my arm, I wince and don't look. Bandages are not out of the question for a paper cut. I consider paging a cardiologist during a gas bubble attack.
Not surprisingly, during that first attack I ended up in the hospital. The unusual part of that story is I don’t remember how the stone went away. Because there’s only one way out and it’s not very pleasant. I was released and everything was fine.
And then it happened again. The other day I was sitting in my chair minding my own business when suddenly it felt like Mike Tyson was using my back as a punching bag. This time it only lasted a few minutes, then went away. I knew what caused it, but the doctor wanted an ultrasound.
And that’s what got me nervous. I’ve seen ultrasound test results and they are very revealing. Most of them involve happy moms showing off bundles of joy. But I guarantee that will not be my result, even if I do look six months pregnant.
Who knows what’s going on in there? And sometimes it’s best to leave well enough alone. Sure, I can expect the photos to reveal a pot roast or a lump of gum that never digested from my childhood or the car keys I lost in 1983. But it might reveal something else that leads the doctor to say the word a patient never wants to hear (Uh-oh).
Still, I went along with it. So I got the goop all over my belly and felt like an expectant mom especially when the technician accidentally called me “ma’am.” And then I waited. And waited. Naturally, all kinds of horrible things goes through your head, but I tried to remain calm.
And when I got the word that everything was clear, I was relieved. There wasn’t even any sign of the stone, which is odd. I assume it must be hiding behind the pot roast.
Ray Kisonas is the Regional Editor of The Monroe News and The Daily Telegram. He can be reached at rayk@monroenews.com.
This article originally appeared on The Monroe News: Ray Kisonas: A rolling stone gathers no pot roast
