Quick, what's the number for 911?

I had a nice weekend planned. Jill was coming over, and I had three new recipes I know she'd like. Her palette is more savory than mine, and I'm not much a foodie unless it's a dessert. Things were going quite well. We fell asleep around 2:30 AM on Sunday.

I woke up around 8:30 with the worst pain I've ever felt, in my lower left abdomen - automatically ruled out appendicitis. I sat on the toilet for a few minutes just in case, and looked for a local hospital that would accept my insurance. After that success, I woke up a hung-over Jill, told her what was happening, and called for an ambulance.

We were dropped off in the emergency room at Mount Sinai here in Astoria. And we waited.

And we waited.

And got pushed around to triage.

And we waited.

And I dry-heaved.

And we waited.

And I was crying in pain and dehydration.

And we waited.

And I dry-heaved a few more times.

And we waited.

And we waited.

I got looked over, given an IV drip, with drugs for nausea, and two doses of sweet, sweet morphine. The first had no effect, the second was bliss. It cut the pain in half (yay!) and made me woozy & sleepy. I called my parents while the second dose kicked in. It seemed like the right thing to do.

And we waited.

And we waited.

I got wheeled over to the CaT scan lab, and Jill went to get something to eat so she didn't pass out from low blood sugar.

And I waited.

I'd never had a CaT scan before. There's a lot of holding your breath involved. The second time through, I couldn't hold it long enough. It didn't screw anything up, but I was worried I'd have to do it again. But I didn't, so I was wheeled into the hall.

And I waited.

Then I was wheeled into the ICU. Jill was there sipping coffee.

And we waited for the results.

And we waited.

And we waited.

The doctor finally came in with prescriptions and a diagnosis: a three-millimeter kidney stone. I was soon discharged, though still woozy from the sweet, sweet morphine, which I'd never had before today.

I absolutely understand why people would abuse morphine.

Anyway, we went across the street, got the prescriptions filled. Jill had gone to get cash to a cab while I waited for the drugs. Then there was a rumblin' in my tummy, and dry-heaved yet again. The pharmacist was kind enough to let me use the bathroom as I felt it coming up. The placed closed up, and I waited for Jill outside. We called for a car, and we were home by 4:30.

Called my folks to let them know the story, and found out my dad is smoking again. Within the past week or so.

I took some drugs, and fell asleep. My own snoring woke me up a couple of times, but was up for good at 8:30. I slowly hydrated, shook off the wooziness, and took one of the pain killers.

I feel good now, but I'm dreading the moment when the stone passes through.