My Dad took me to the hospital around 7:30. Had I known what was in store through the next few hours, I would have told him to wait the half hour, eat some dinner and then come, but the poor guy left without eating a crumb.

I arrived to a full waiting room, and was seen fairly quickly by a triage nurse who seemed to be extremely grumpy. I handed her the note I had been given by my doctor earlier, as I was having trouble speaking and focussing. 'What do you want me to do with this?', she snarled. I explained my doctor had tried to get me admitted earlier but after being told how busy they were, had spoken with the attending and told him my situation. She said she knew nothing about it and looked at me like I was just some snotty kid coming in for a cold. She found my heartrate was 190bpm and I had high blood pressure. She asked me if I had taken cocaine recently. WTF? No, idiot, I'm in pain! I hurt! I'm really wrecked up! Haven't had time to procure any street drugs recently, thank you!

She said, well, there's no beds here. You can either wait it out or go home to die. I kid you not! She actually said that. I couldn't tell if she were joking or being serious. So I went back to the waiting room, with a bowl in case I became ill again. In my company was a man with an end-stage malignant brain tumour who was having seizures, a woman who was in very serious pain and kept screaming and passing out and another lady who was covered in blood for some unknown reason. So we waited. When I could talk, I spoke to the others in the room. We became sort of kindred spirits in our waiting. The 'bowel' lady had been there the night before until 4am, and was discharged with a diagnosis of acid reflux.

For the next 5 hours, I laid in the fetal position on a hard wooden bench. Every hour or so, the triage nurse would come out to check us like some macabre Monty Python "I'm not dead yet" sketch. Some people would come in, many just took one look and left. On the floor of the waiting room, there were old bandages and other bloodied first aid things that people had discarded. It was absolutely disgusting.

Around 10:30, the triage nurse took my vitals again and declared that she couldn't figure out why my pulse was racing so bad, and remarked that she hoped I wasn't 'trying anything' to get in quicker. Like I somehow enjoyed being there? It went through my mind a few times to leave, but the pain was not abatting and I knew I was only delaying the inevitable.

My friend, Leigh came - she is really and truly the sweetest person in the world, and sat with me in the waiting room. She went off to pick up my Mom around 11:30 so my Dad could take a break and go home and have some dinner.

At 12:30, the admitting clerk finally said my name. I swear it had never sounded sweeter. They put me in a room in the ER, with warm blankets and I thought everything was finally going to be ok. They hooked me up to the monitors as my vitals were still very unstable, and declared I was in shock from the pain. No fucking doubt, people! An ER doctor came by and quickly examined me, declared me to be a candidate for surgery (What surgery???) but no real details. I was getting to the point of passing out so not much was making sense. They had to take a urine sample by catheter because my kidneys were not really functioning. It was the darkest sample I had ever seen. Finally, the order for morphine was given. My Mom asked if I was going to be kept overnight, and was told that no, I would probably be home in a few hours. It was like everyone was giving different answers and nothing made sense. I sent my Mom and Leigh home to get some sleep. No point keeping everyone up on account of me!

Now, I'm not very dramatic when I get sick, and rather, the more pain I'm in, the quieter I get. I think that's probably not the best way, as it would seem those that scream and cry seem to get looked at quicker. But it's just not within me to make a noise. Every sound is an effort when I'm like that. The nurse came in to set up the IV. He screwed it up and all I knew was he somehow made blood spurt out of my hand. I had never seen that happened before, but am glad I don't get freaked out by blood or needles as that would probably have done it for me. He said it was because my veins were collapsing. He ended up getting the line in my forearm in the end instead. Then he put the morphine and the bag of saline on and life began to feel a bit better. The lady that took my blood also had trouble and pierced my vein, so that I have an incredible bruise on my inner arm now.

As I looked around the room, I noted that the ER itself was no better than the waiting room for cleanliness. There were pools of blood on the floor as well as other liquids. When I attempted the bathroom, I found blood on the toilet seat. I am usually pretty casual about germs but I just felt gross. It was like thousands of bugs were crawling everywhere and it made me feel even sicker.

I didn't sleep. I was too freaked out. I didn't know if I was going to be having surgery or what was happening next. I closed my eyes but would keep almost one eye open to see what was happening. It was a busy ER. Apparently, this is the time for kidney stones as I could hear other people screaming about them in other beds. The lady with the bowel problem got worse. Apparently her "acid reflux" was actually a blocked bowel. At 4am, her bowel burst and she went into cardiac arrest. I heard them rush her to surgery and I did see her the next day so I know she made it.

The morphine was my friend. While the pain was still there, I didn't care and did float a lot. I was nauseated but thankfully did not get sick any more. I was so thirsty. My mouth was incredibly dry and I asked for even ice chips, but was denied as they kept telling me I was having surgery. For what, people? For the love of [insert diety here], what kind of surgery am I having?

At 6am, I was told I was no longer having surgery because there were no open OR's. I had xrays and ultrasound done. Then this medical student came in to examine me. She couldn't pronounce my name - and really, how hard is Susan? As she examined me, she seemed almost embarassed at what she had to do. I said to her, do what you have to, I can't take much more and you have to help. She was concentrating on my abdomen and my gallbladder area but I kept telling her it was my back/kidney area. She didn't listen. I said to her everything hurt and radiated from my back. She just kept asking questions about my bowels and asking if I had ulcers or maybe gas. Dude, if I had gas, trust me, I would have dealt with it myself and not come to this hell on earth.

I asked to see the real doctor. She bristled and said I was one of 9 patients with GI issues and he was too busy.

At noon, the doctor with his med students in tow came into my room and declared I was a mystery. That they were scratching their heads. Well, maybe if I'd been examined properly, that would not have been the case! I tried to argue but he made me feel like an idiot. I told him I was booked to see the urologist regarding kidney stones on Tuesday and suddenly, it was like he had his excuse. It was no longer his department! He said my gallbladder looked fine, and that he would discharge me so I could see the urologist. I asked why I couldn't see the urologist now, but he shook his head. Dr. Cron is very busy right now, poor guy is just about run off his feet, so you'll have to see him Tuesday. With a wave of his hand, he summarily dismissed everything I was saying and ordered the morphine withdrawn. I heard him tell the nurse that I was to finish my bag of saline and then the IV removed so I could go home.

The nurse came by and said it would be an hour or more before she could get back to take out the shunt. She turned the IV down to a slow drip. I asked her for some pain meds as my head was beginning to pound. She said no, that the doctor had not ordered any. I asked her to take the shunt out so I could at least go home and get some Tylenol. Again, she refused and said I'd have to wait until the bag was finished.

It took nearly 2 hours, and again I began to vomit because of the headache. At least I think that's why. When she finally got back to me, I was no longer very polite. When she had taken the IV out, I nearly leapt off the bed and ran out of there. My parents found me sitting on the curb when they came to pick me up.

The stench of the hospital, the trauma of the last 30 hours, and the fact that I was still not well and no medical person seemed to give a shit, had completely finished me. I came home, had some dinner and to be honest, I don't feel too bad. The kidney pain is very minor now, and they are definitely functioning. Not well, mind you, but they are anyway. I slept last night for 15 hours, dreamt a very movie quality dream about being in Hawaii and Todd having to deliver Skizzy in a Blackhawk helicopter. Yeah, drugs are good.

So now I wait until Tuesday. Hopefully things won't go so insane 'til then and I just have to do what I always advise my friends to do, and be strong when I talk to that specialist Tuesday. Not to hide anything and to be blunt that there is something wrong and it cannot go on.

Meanwhile, I missed Todd's call last Wednesday and I just wish so badly I could talk to him. I don't know if I want to tell him all this because when I told him about the stones, he seemed rather freaked out by me being sick and I don't want him to worry. He can't do anything, anyway. I just wish upon wish that I could hear his voice right now.