The Dynamics of Dread, the Power of Pain, and the Conversation I Had With My Kidney

The Dynamics of Dread, the Power of Pain, and the Conversation I Had With My Kidney

Part One

(Out of the Blue, Vortexia) -- My New Year’s resolution for 2010 was that life would return to “normal” after a year of sickness and death in my husband’s family. But, on January 4 – having never experienced a serious illness in my life -- I discovered blood in my urine and knew with sobering certainty that my life would be anything but normal for awhile; maybe forever.

“Tests show no sign of infection,” my doctor announced. “Even though you’re not experiencing any pain, I’m ordering an ultrasound to check for kidney stones.”

Two days later, he called back. “Well, the good news is the ultrasound showed no stones in your kidneys. The bad news is, we need to take a different test to see the inside of your bladder. I’m referring you to an urologist.”

Having done my homework on the Internet, I knew that heavy bleeding without pain was symptomatic of bladder cancer, ergo, the thought of waiting two more weeks to have the next test was unbearable. A dear friend who “happened” to work for a premier urological medical group came to my rescue. He set up an appointment for me with a first-rate urologist immediately; not something that would have been possible under socialized healthcare. Miracle Number One.

I know, it’s futile to worry, but telling someone being tested for cancer not to worry is like telling a dog not to cower from fireworks on the 4^th of July. I succumbed to an endless mental litany of “what-if’s” and “if-only’s”: What if I do have cancer? Maybe that’s why God arranged for me to get seen so quickly. What if it’s advanced? Untreatable? If only I had gone to the doctor sooner. If only I had watched my diet more. If only I hadn’t snapped at my husband the other day…

Later, listening to my urologist tell me the test on my bladder was negative for cancer, I scolded myself. Silly girl.

“See?” my husband beamed. “You’re going to be just fine.”

The urologist, however, wasn’t so convinced. “Something is causing the bleeding,” he said, noting that during the test he had located the source. It was my left kidney. “I want you back in two days for a CAT-scan,” he ordered. “We need to get to the bottom of this.”

I should interject here that I am notoriously leery of being over-exposed to x-rays. When I told my eldest daughter, a medical professional, of my intent to cancel the CAT-scan appointment because I was sure everything was ok and the urologist was just over-reacting, she had a fit. “Don’t you dare cancel that appointment,” she shrilled. “That’s your old hippy-head talking mom!”

I indulged her, grudgingly, but not without telling the technician who did the scan that I was in mourning because my “virginal kidneys were about to be violated.” A joke, of course.

The joke, as it turned out, was on me. A half-hour later, as my unsuspecting husband and I sat with the urologist in front of the computer displaying the first of my CAT-scan x-rays, we heard the dreaded words: “See this shadow here in your ureter….and this spot on your left kidney? I’m concerned. I’ll be honest with you, I’m afraid you could have a rare form of kidney and/or ureter cancer. There’s no way to know for sure unless we do a ureteroscopy. If it does turn out to be cancer, I think we may have caught it early enough to simply remove the kidney and avoid any chemo or radiation, but we need to schedule the procedure as soon as possible.”

On the way home I broke down and told my husband that my two greatest regrets in life – if I were to have cancer – were that I might not live to see my grandchildren and that I’d have to bless him to marry someone else. “You’re too young to be widowed for 30 years,” I choked, failing miserably at feigning both humor and courage.

He wouldn’t hear of it. I was being “premature” he cautioned. I was going to be “fine,” he said. Nevertheless, this pragmatic, type-A personality, former Girl Scout, was determined to be prepared for the worst. At the same time, I was equally determined to keep everything in perspective so as to prevent despair from swallowing me alive.

Rolling out the carpet of the mind; a typical reaction to fear, isn’t it? The length and breadth of life unfurls, expanding into eternity, revealing the stark sum of our past and the imminent sentence of our future existence. It’s an inescapable reality check; a virtual checklist of personal foibles and misappropriated affections. Why had I wasted so much of my life burdened with trivialities and spent so little time really living? Suddenly, I see my husband as unsurpassingly beautiful, perfect. My children are precious beyond belief. Nothing else matters.

The following day a 7.0 earthquake devastated Haiti. There’s perspective for you. Lying on the operating table, ready to go under general anesthesia, I told the surgeon and the anesthesiologist, “I can’t stop thinking of the poor Haitians trapped in buildings, suffering such unspeakable pain with no food, no water, no doctors, no medicine. I almost feel guilty being here.”

The next thing I knew, my husband was holding my hand telling me that my kidneys were perfectly healthy, that I was cancer free – Miracle Number Two --and that the doctor had found a small kidney stone in my left kidney and removed it.

The procedure effectively ended my fears of cancer, but gave birth to a week of excruciating pain unlike anything I had ever experienced. Of course, I couldn’t have known that then, sedated as I was, intoxicated with thankfulness for my clean bill of health.

If ignorance is bliss, I was blind, deliriously so, to what the future had in store for me.