The Day I've Had

(Note: This should have been written yesterday, but I had HAD it.)

My morning went well enough, I was in the store selling - something I love to do - then after one phone call from my oncologist's office it ALL unraveled.

I mean soul-draining, sweat-producing, finger nail biting, anxiety ridden, constantly on the verge of tears ball of shit.

No, the nurse - male nurse (oh la la!) - didn't tell me bad news, quite the opposite. He left a message saying that he had gotten my chemo approved through my insurance and we are all set for port insertion on Monday.

That should have put a bounce in my step, right?

But then I kind of freaked out. What if I didn't have insurance? I mean I have had the ACA in the past, but not for this kind of major horizon event. What if Nate's company shuts down and I lose my insurance? What if I get another kind of insurance and Dr. Weiss doesn't accept that kind?

Now keep in mind, that Nate's company is thriving, and I am sure Dr. Weiss works with many insurance companies. But I was in a panic haze and things were deteriorating quickly.

Suddenly, my privilege bubble was contracting a bit too rapidly.

I text Nate, "When you get home from work, please call me, I am having a panic attack."

Then, if you know me, you know I tend to dwell and spiral downward under the fakest of fake smiles as I utter, "I'm good! I'm fine!"

That's just what I do.

But I was at work and I had to keep calm and carry on - which is actually much harder to do that it is to say.

I mustered up a workable game face and this woman comes into to the store to unload her displeasure with one of our items. As she smiled to my face her words were like tiny daggers to my heart. I hate when a customer is unhappy - it really wrenches my heart. We came to an understanding and she left seemingly appeased.

Then Nate calls me at work and I think, "At last! My salvation! I can unload all my anxiety onto Nate!"

This was not going to be that call.

In his own panicked voice he says, "I am in HELL!" I am stuck on the road due to all the roads being shut down to the flooding and I can't get home! Get me home!"

Like Miranda's assistant, "Emily" in "The Devil Wears Prada" I went into work mode and got on the MODOT website but couldn't find a way for him to get home. I was no help to him and he was stranded on the highway with other aggravated motorists.

I just knew he wouldn't call me when he got home and I was going to have to marinate in this anxiety for a long time.

But he did call me when he got home and he let me talk uninterrupted for as long as I needed and never once told me to shut the fuck up. He told me I would always have the best care available to me and that he loved me.

Even after being married for 15 years, whenever Nate tells me he loves me my stomach flips.

The night ended well enough as we passed our daily goal and I came home and melted into my comfy chair under my comforter of love.

And I don't even have my port in yet. If this is a precursor of the roller-coaster of emotions I am to endure over the next few years, then I feel sorry for all of you. Because you are going to have to put up with me.

But even when you get tired of me I know Nate won't.

Moments of Clarity

Ever since my diagnosis, I have been having a few moments of mental clarity.

While I always thought it was cliche, don't sweat the small stuff. And 99% of it is small stuff.

Cherish your loved ones every day. Tomorrow is not promised.

So now that I have the cliche bullshit out of the way, I want to share this story with you.

I recently told this woman I have a form of cancer. He whole face changed. Not that she was being rude or anything to me, but her face softened. Her tone became friendlier.

It wasn't a look of pity, but she was for sure handling me with kid gloves. Not that I am bitching about it - I like when people are nice to me.

But then it dawned on me, why did it take that golf-ball size of news for this woman to go out of her way to be nice to me?

Why can't we all treat each other like we all have cancer every day?

Then I remembered how I was trying to merge onto I-55 North the other day and this woman in a Camaro wouldn't let me over. I flipped her off.

Moment of clarity destroyed.

Make-A-Wish List

My friend Jen and I have been talking about my Make-A-Wish List. As if I would ever get one. That organization is for children who have deadly diseases and deserve to get a wish granted.

But it is still a fun game to pass the time.

So these are just some of my items that would go on my list: WARNING: I am swinging for the fences with this list - DREAM BIG!

Be a constant on Survivor or Big Brother - I love both shows so much.

Have lunch with Jackie Beat - one of my all time favorite performers.

Go record shopping with Rob Ondarza. I have never met Rob, but he is my friend Todd's husband and we are kindred souls, musically - I assume.

Get a bikini wax with Muffy Bolding. I think it would be hysterical.

Do a shot of Jagger with Meryl Streep.

Go zip lining over the jungles of Costa Rica with my husband. I know how much he would love to do this.

Go to Las Vegas.

Produce a drag show with my favorite St. Louis drag queens where I get to pick out all of their music. The cast would include Jade Sinclair, Nadia M. Louis, Adria Andrews, Karma T. Cassidy, and Vicki Valentino. Vanessa Vincent would also be a choice, but that bitch has retired.

Get my own radio show focusing on new music. I am working on this one and I think I can actually achieve this dream.

Spend the rest of my life lying in bed next to my husband. It really is my favorite activity to do.

Learn to love myself.

Uh -oh, the last one cut a little too deep. I think my pain meds are kicking in. I need to go cry now.

Fucking feelings.

The Port is on its way!

So the date has been set to induct me to the Port Collective.

January 4th I will be getting my port put in my body. I will also get my first round of chemo.

They decided to delay my second round until the 5th.

So one more week of living it up and then shit gets real.

I did a bit of living it up by spending time with one of my favorite families, The Musgroves. Beth and her husband Tony invited Nate and myself over for dinner. I thoroughly enjoy spending time with Beth and her family because they keep it real.

Plus, Beth can make a mean margarita and I may have had one or four tonight. It was much needed emotional therapy as we noshed on Mexican food and I belly laughed the entire night as I made her eldest son watch drag queen videos on YouTube.

I have gotten so many wonderful messages from my friends that it is totally overwhelming. Thank you all for your kind words, your prayers, and just letting me talk.

Feel free to comment on any of my blog posts and don't be afraid to call me out on my shit.

So there we have it. 12 more days until I get my first treatment. Let's just hope everything goes smoothly and I don't vomit too much.

Dr. Nicey Nice

Back to the Big Barnes Hospital to meet Dr. Weiss.

Of course he is in the Center for Advanced Medicine and of course I had to park on the roof.

To make matters worse his office is on the 14th floor and there are only six elevators to take and everyone crams into one box - one of my biggest pet peeves.

And of course there was one person that had to get off on every floor from 4-13.

And of course there is that one guy who thinks pushing the Close Door button works and pushes it every floor - idiot.

I may take the stairs next time. People are gross.

I anxiously wait in Dr. Weiss' waiting room and this lady of a certain age and I start talking about Prince Willam and his beautiful wife Kate. We also talk about how that scoundrel Harry got caught naked in Vegas. We then bashed millennials and how they are slaves to their phones.

The things cancer patients talk about. Stuff of dreams.

I got called in and had my vitals taken and WEIGHED AGAIN. Fuck it people, just so everyone knows - I weigh 247- mother fucking - pounds. Body by McDonalds.

They then took - and I can't make this up - SEVEN vials of my blood. Tests on top of tests on top of tests to be done.

I was then ushered into an examination room and started reading a People magazine from April of 2015. This doctor needs to step up his magazine game.

I then remember I downloaded Kindle to my phone and I had begun reading this book called, "The Nightingale." If anything positive comes out of this, my love of reading has re-emerged. I read a whole chapter and then the doctor comes in.

How can I describe Dr. Weiss? He is a wise, comforting soul. He is a gentleman of a certain age, he has a soft, velvety voice, and warm eyes. I instantly felt at ease with him. He discussed my results and told me I was going to start chemotherapy to shrink the golf ball logged in my lower back.

I had a list of questions for him and he answered every last one in laymen's terms. He never rushed me and I actually felt like we were having a back and forth conversation.

What stage am I? Stage 3, but it could be Stage 4. He isn't sure, but they treat both the same way.

What is the treatment for this type of cancer? A mix of two different type of chemo - one called Rituxan and one called Treanda.

I am going to have have a port installed in my chest which will make it easier to dispense the chemo and to get blood samples. I should have the port in my body for at least two years.

My first treatment will last for 6-8 hours and they will serve me lunch! I wonder if I can get any of that fly pizza I smelled before.

The goal is to reduce my chemo treatments over time to get me to "Observer" status.

They can't cure this kind of cancer, but they can "control" it and monitor it.

I will be able to work during my treatment. Dr. Weiss said that would probably be the best form of therapy for me. He can tell I am a people person and how much I love my job.

He then physically examined me. I don't want this to go weird, but he has the softest hands I have ever encountered. His soothing voice combined with his soft touch made me feel like I was floating on a cloud.

He commented that he could feel my lymph nodes and how exciting it was. I said, "Maybe for you! But not for me!"

I asked him more questions about the port and he said it will have a catheter that will go in my neck. So then I asked, "So will I be a Jem'Hadar"? (Google it bitches!) He didn't get the reference and I told him it was from Star Trek: DS9. He told me he wasn't familiar with that, but he was a science fiction fan.

He told me I have an excellent attitude and that is 90% of the battle. He seemed positively giddy about my prognosis. He thinks I will respond to the treatment excellently and he has only the highest hopes for me.

I think I will have to have a treatment ever 2-3 weeks and then go to once a month.

So I just get to sit on my ass and read. I think I can deal with this.

So there you have it folks, you are all up to date. Please check back here often for updates. I will try to post when something significant happens or if I have any more "feelings."

I do want to say this. I love my husband and my friends for taking such good care of me. Every time you text me asking me how I am doing or how I am feeling, my heart sings. I cannot do this alone and I am going to need all of you at one time or another.

I have my moments when my fear takes over and I start to cry, or when I have rage fits and I just want to be negative. Please just bear with me. This is just me having to deal with life.

One final question - is there an Adult Make-A-Wish foundation? I want to go on Survivor.

The Call

Once again - at work - I get a call from my surgeon's office. Like at 8 o'clock at night. That seems odd.

"Mr. Ryan, the results from your biopsy came back and you have been diagnosed as having (in slow motion) Fo-lli-cu-lar Lym-pho-ma."

BA-BOOM. 

I have a legit form cancer. (Note: Typing this made me start crying. I guess I do have feelings.)

She then tried to argue with me about who my oncologist was and I was not having it. Dr. Summers set me up with Dr. Weiss and THAT is who I was going to see.

I told my friend Kate about my ailments. Kate has had to deal with many severe health issues and I have always admired her spirit. She is a true warrior and gave me some of the best advice I have ever gotten. She said:

#1 - MOST IMPORTANT - STAY OFF THE INTERNET. 

#2 - Trust your doctor and ask him every question you have.

#3 - It never hurts to get a second opinion.

I ignored #1 and regretted it instantly. Life Expectancy? What the fuck? Am I Stage 1 or Stage 4? My head started swimming and I nearly fainted. I turned of my computer and ran and hid under my comforter. Nothing can hurt me under the comforter, right?

RIGHT?

I came back to my senses and turned my asshole of a computer back on.

I had my appointment with my oncologist set for the following Monday and I was hoping that he wasn't as aloof as Dr. Studmuffin.

Fate is a funny little bitch and my story takes a turn for the better.

Recovery and a BM

Once back home, after puppy kisses, I settled into my Lay-Z-Boy recliner and fell asleep under my favorite comforter.

I then woke up and realized I hadn't had a "movement" in three days. THREE DAYS! I called my doctors office in a panic and begged the nurse to have my doctor prescribe me some industrial laxatives.

She called back to tell me he had and I could pick them up at my local Walgreens. Hubby went and got them for me and I gobbled two of them down like they were fucking mana from the gods!

More sleeping, more binge watching of Star Trek: DS9, and more eating but no movements.

I stressed out. I was putting food in, but getting nothing out. Each trip to the commode was followed by my disappointment to make a #2.

Nate had a brilliant idea! Greasy burgers! Let's go to Red Robin!

That did the trick. A couple hours later and I was a happy passenger on his way to Poopville.

That was a relief - in more ways than one.

I was scheduled to go back to the boutique the next day, but my neck was too sore and I still had problems swallowing. (Side eye to all you pervs!)

Becky told me I could take the day off and I happily sank back into my Lay-Z-Boy for the next two days. I couldn't even sleep in my bed since stretching out my neck caused me too much pain.

Once the BM came and went I felt like I turned a corner. I started feeling better all over and I went back to work the following Monday.

I love my job and I think it made my recovery happen even faster. Selling makes my blood pump and it was good to see my co-workers and customers.

I was worried about my scar being revealed to my co-workers and decided it was time to tell them the shiz.

I clued them all in one at a time and I told them I would still like to keep it in my store as I still didn't want everyone in the company feeling sorry for me. Perhaps its my own self-loathing, but feelings just make me feel queasy. As much as I like to think I am an open book, I am really a feelings closet case.

But the girls needed to know. I didn't need rumors being made up about my scar.

The Big Day

So the big day arrived. I was going to have surgery AND I was going to get knocked out.

We get to the waiting room and once again time starts to stretch into eternity. We were given a buzzer like we were at Chili's and waited for my time to come.

After my buzzer went off about 45 minutes later we were off to the races. I was greeted by a lovely Pre-Surgery nurse and she was very warm and comforting. I got to dress in one of those flattering hospital gowns and and IV was started.

Dr. McDreamy came in and talked to me. I just gotta say, if I thought he was hot before, when he came in dressed in his surgery blues, I splooshed. He even made that odd round hat look hot. The man is just fucking hot.

He assured me I was going to come though this fine and then I got to talk to my anesthesiologist. He seemed like he had ants in his pants and talked with what I assume a German accent. He reassured me I was going to be fine and that his intern was going to be assisting as well.

An intern? Does that mean I will be getting a discount since I was giving some newbie their shot? Doubtful.

They then told me they hooked up my anesthesiology cocktail in my IV and I should be feeling warm fuzzies.

I did not. I started to panic. Why was I not feeling the warm fuzzies? Oh right, I am dead inside. Phew.

As they wheeled me into the OR I was still wide awake - and becoming afraid that nobody was going to realize that I was still awake and cut into me. Stuff of nightmares.

I looked at the nurse in the OR and said, "I don't feel any-" And I was out.

I woke up an hour and a half later and woke up hard. No you pervs, not erect, hard like with a jolt. I looked around and with a scratchy throat started begging for my husband.

I then saw this African-American girl who was patting her head and I said - albeit groggy - "Pat that weave girl. Pat that weave." She then said "Actually, its not a weave." I thought I blinked and she was gone.

So I pissed her off.

I then saw a woman wearing a hijab and tried to wave her over to tell her that I love all Muslim people in spite of what Donald Trump has said. I never got her to come over and then I thought, "Probably better for that." I didn't want to piss off every minority in the hospital.

After eating some ice chips, drinking some white soda and eating not one - but two Blue Bunny ice cream cups, I was ready to go home. Dr. Hot Stuff said that it looked like I just had enlarged lymph nodes, but they were going to stain the sample and do other interesting things and I should know something in a couple days.

Great - MORE WAITING.

Hubby went to go get the car to pick me up and THAT was the moment I realized I had the parking ticket in my wallet which was in my jeans. He managed to get out of the parking garage thanks to a very nice security man and picked me up and we headed home.

I had a lovely scar in the middle of my collar bone that looked like a smile. Well at least one part of me was smiling.

Pre-Surgery Consultation!

I got the call that my surgery would take place on a Friday, but before that could happen I had to attend an Anesthesiology Pre-Screening at Barnes.

What? A pre-screening? *SIGH* Another money grab from Barnes.

Let me tell you - that South garage at Barnes is the money maker. Each time I have had to go to Barnes I have never been able to park anywhere except for the top level. They give you a voucher to help offset the cost, but it only takes off $1.50. The rest of the tab is on you.

I make my way to the Pre-Screening room - which was right past the lunchroom which had to most delicious smelling pizza. Damn you pre-screening!

Once again, I have to fill out form on top of form all of which I have filled out too many times to count.

Vitals were taken, I was weighed AGAIN, and I was ushered back to another examination room. The first nurse I spoke to was lovely. She reminded me of my friend Rich, deep brown puppy dog eyes, and a gentle way of speaking. She and I laughed and shared stories and I  revealed to her that the pain killers I was taking were making me constipated.

She told me of an over the counter drug I could take to counteract it and I will be forever in her debt.

When you can't go - NOTHING ELSE MATTERS. I was even considering contacting Jamie Lee Curtis through Twitter to see if she could hook me up with some Activia.

She asked me about thirty questions and then another woman came in and asked me pretty much the same thirty questions. She was nice enough, but was this a test to see if I was lying to the last woman?

She then gave me a bottle of anti-bacterial soap and - in what could be misconstrued as a condescending tone - gave me the following instructions:

When you take a shower tonight, wash your hair as normal then use a clean washcloth and scrub your entire body from the ears down. Then use a clean towel to dry off. Put clean linens on your bed including pillowcases. Put on clean pajamas and oh, don't let your dogs sleep in your bed tonight.

HOLD THE FUCK UP. NOT LET MY DOGS SLEEP WITH ME? YOU TRIPPIN'!

Then in the morning take another shower, wash you hair as normal, then scrub your entire body from your ears down with another clean washcloth and use another clean towel. Then put on loose fitting clothing and report for your surgery.

At first glance, I was mildly offended that she would have to go into such detail about how to clean my body, but then once I thought about it, I know there are some nasty motherfuckers in STL and I guarantee some of these fuckers turn up for their surgeries smelling like shit.

I followed all the instructions including the fucked up part about not letting my dogs sleep with me. Parker the wonder basset was not having it, but she eventually gave up and retreated to her own bed.

I went to bed but go NO SLEEP. I was kind of freaking out.

Consultation time!

I had my first meeting with Dr. Crabtree. I had to go to one of the Siteman Cancer Centers to meet him and talk about the surgery.

I have to say, the Siteman Cancer Centers are pretty swanky. There was a massive fireplace, a keyboard for anyone to use, a computer terminal for open use and all the Nescafe one would care to drink. I don't care what anyone says - there is mucho money in medicine.

I sank into a SUPER comfy suede couch and hunkered down seeing how the waiting room was nearly filled to capacity.

The woman came out from behind the magic wall and said, "Mr. Ryan?" I will NEVER get tired of hearing my married name.

I stood up and so did an ENTIRE other family. We looked at each other and I thought we were going to have to Mad Max one another. The nurse stammered as she looked at both of us and said, "You are both named Mr. Ryan?" We both side glanced each other and said "Yes."

She then said "Mr. James Ryan?"

THAT'S ME!

So for some reason, I RAN towards the nurse high-fiving the other patients and started yelling "Big Bucks! No Whammies!" I don't know why I did that, but I felt like I got picked to be a contestant on a game show. The entire room laughed and the nurse almost lost her shit laughing so hard.

Even in a cancer center I can kill. Wait, you know what I mean.

After meeting with several assistants and answering the same questions over and over again, I finally got to meet Dr. Crabtree. As he entered the room I thought I was in trouble. Good looking to say the least, the man has a profile that belongs on Mt. Rushmore. How can I be sick in the presence of such a studly man? I mean I am married, but daaaaaaammmmnnnnn.

But then he came off as aloof. He seemed to kind of rush me on my story - I mean Talky J likes to gab - and he said something to the effect of "Well, we are committed to this biopsy so...."

So?

So?

He wasn't rude, but he made me feel like I was boring him. I left the meeting dejected. I know I may or may not have cancer, but my insurance company will be paying you thousands of dollars to cut into my body so at least appear to be into me - just a little bit.

I was told I would get a call in a few days telling me when my surgery would take place. I would have another encounter with Dr. McHottie soon.

Keep in mind - at this point in time the only people who knew what was going on with me was my husband, a select number of friends, my Supervisor/friend Becky, one other employee at my store and my owners. Only people with a need to know had access to my medical stories. I don't know why I am this way, I just am.

I just didn't want to pity looks and the "You got this" speech from everyone. I like to bear my personal crosses with a minimum of people knowing. Plus, I didn't want a bunch of hugs.

Hugs are gross.

No news is good news, but sometimes some news is bad news.

I get a phone call from my doctor while at work.

He reminded me that he took some blood samples from me when I visited him last time and he tested my blood for HIV.

He then seemed to talk for what seemed like an eternity about how HIV and Lymphoma have some things related - or at least I that was what I heard. My heart started to spin and my pulse quickened because he just told me that he tested my blood for HIV and he wasn't getting to the results.

I thought to myself, "He is just trying to soften the blow." Don't get me wrong, I am not trying to paint having HIV with the stigmas of past times, but you don't circle the drain about that issue with a gay man - just get to the point. He eventually told me that I was HIV negative and I instantly unclenched.

I mean, I have been in a relationship with my husband for 15 years and I have never used drugs intravenously or externally. So why was I worried? Is that some sort of gay guilt for surviving while I watched my fellow gays pass away from the disease? THAT my friends, is another blog for another time.

He said the pain in my back was due to a golf ball size lump of lymph nodes that grouped together for some reason. It was pushing on my other organs and THAT was why my back hurt.

Oh, and the PET scan proved that I had enlarged lymph nodes in my chest and abdomen.

So the good news - I am HIV negative, another test he did proved good results with some low blood markers, AND I have a tumor in my lung!

Yes, that's right, I have a tumor in my lung and THAT was good news. He said that it would be easier to get a tissue sample for biopsy from my lung as opposed to cut my side open to get a sample.

They could either run a tube down my throat or make an incision in my collar bone and either way I was going to get anesthesia - which as a life long insomniac, getting knocked out is better than any orgasm you can imagine - ever.

He said he was fairly certain the tissue in my lungs was indicative why my lymph nodes were enlarged. He started throwing around the word Lymphoma and I started to get the gist that my life was about to change forever.

He also told me that he spent his morning talking to two very important doctors who had agreed to help me figure out what I had and what I was going to do about it.

I had appointments set up with Dr. Crabtree who would be my surgeon and Dr. Weiss who would be my oncologist.

Wow - just like that I had two doctors. Still I was - and am still - unfazed.

I think my friend Rebecca took the news harder than I did. I told her, "I think I have Lymphoma" and she burst into tears. Like a Vulcan, I was confused by this outburst of emotion. She said she didn't want to lose me. I went over to hug her - and if you know me I NEVER hug anyone - and tried to comfort her. It was all very surreal.

Why wasn't I upset? Am I that devoid of emotion that I didn't even care that I may or may not have cancer? Shit, now I am going to have to start examining my emotions.

Poor Becky, I love how much she cares for me.

On the upside, we did create a kick ass window display at our store as we prepared for the upcoming holiday rush. So there is that.

CAT and PET Scans!

When I visited with my doctor the next day he said he was concerned with the black mass on my lower intestine. We talked about my family's history with cancer.

This really didn't bother me as most of my family have died of cancer and I have come to grips with this fact of life a long time ago. My mother passed away from Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma, my father died of Leukemia, and my aunt died of breast cancer.

I reconciled a long time ago that it wasn't a matter IF I was going to have cancer, it was only a matter or WHEN.

So I went to a Metro Imaging to get a CAT scan so he could get a better idea of what was going on in my body. I have to say I like Metro Imaging. The waiting room is nice and the shake I had to drink before the exam was not that bad.

What was annoying was the ill-mannered woman who talked on her cell phone the entire time while we all waited out turns. She talked about the most intimate details of her upcoming Thanksgiving dinner and who was making what and how she hated that bitch Shelley who thought she was everything an a bag of chips. Seriously, this woman talked the ENTIRE time in a room crammed full of strangers. RUDE!

After the scan was complete, they kind of rushed me out the door with no real answers. They said my doctor would call me when he had the results. He did call me the next day to tell me that he had a prettier picture of my blob, but still didn't know what it was.

Well that sucks, $300+ for a prettier picture.

He then wanted me to have PET scan where they would inject me with radioactive sugar to see how my lymph nodes reacted to the special sugar. So I went to Barnes Center for Advanced Medicine and let them inject me with this cool sugar.

Unfortunately, I was assured there was no way I was going to turn into a spider. After that initial disappointment, I sat in my examination room and watched the first hour of Erin Brockovich. I had to let the radioactive sugar coarse through my obese body. Then they scanned me for about 15 minutes and afterwards a doctor met with me to tell me they should have some results in a day or two.

Great - more waiting.

He asked me about my diet and was none too happy about the amount of hamburgers I eat. He warned me to cut down on the red meat. Yeah, good luck with that buddy. Heavy J likes his burgers and I am determined to help my local McDonald's make their quarterly goal.

My doctor called me the next day and things started to get serious.

Where to start?

I guess I should start at the beginning - just to catch everyone up to speed.

I was at work one day and I had to pee constantly. I mean all day - well at least I felt like I had to.

I would use the restroom - and yes, wash my hands - and return to work. Instantly I would feel the urge to go again. It went on like this the whole day.

This has happened once before - about a year ago, but it lasted only for a couple hours.

When my supervisor came into work I whined about it constantly. She suggested that perhaps I had a bladder infection and I needed to see my doctor. This was on a Thursday and I had an appointment to see my doctor on Monday. She said that I wouldn't be able to wait.

As fate would have it, my doctor's office was able to get me in to see me that day so once I got off work I hightailed it to his office. Once I got there, I gave a urine sample and waited - for what seemed like an eternity. It really wasn't, but I was in pain and every moment seemed like a lifetime.

I eventually fell asleep and when I woke up I was sweating due to a fever I seemed to develop. I kept shifting my weight seeing how no matter how I contorted my body, my back hurt. I started to walk up and down a hallway with my hand on my back. I looked like a pregnant woman who was in the third trimester and was trying to induce labor.

My doctor met me in the hallway and said he didn't need to test my urine he saw blood in the sample and he was sure I had kidney stones. As I sat on his examination table I must have shifted my weight about thirty times - I could find no comfortable way to sit.

He told me he would normally send me home with some Flowmax and have me pound it out with water, but the fever was worrying him and he suggested I go to the ER. He said they could put me on an IV and help me pass the stone(s).

I went to my car and felt the need to pee once again so I ran back in and used the restroom. On the way to St. Clare's ER I started feeling better. I don't know if I had passed a stone or it was the act that I knew I was en route to get help. By the time I got there I was feeling foolish and tried to leave.

But, thankfully, the nurse told me the doctor wanted a CAT scan to see how many stones I still had in me. After I did the scan, the ER doctor told me that I didn't have any more kidney stones, but I did have several gallstones and a black mass on my lower bowel that they didn't know what it was. I was to report to my doctor the next morning.

They hooked my up with some painkillers since my back still hurt and I went home oblivious to how the next few weeks were going to affect my life.