Passing Gold

I think my kidneys are in cahoots with some no-good health insurance scammers. Last August I passed a kidney stone worth its weight -- er, a million times its weight -- in gold. We are still getting the bills for that dumbass little piece of calcification. I'm mad. I mean, come on. My urinary tract just happens to decide on the first day of my husband's new insurance plan, to squeeze out a golden egg, er, stone that leaves me vomiting and unable to walk? Oh, yeah, I think it was a set-up.

The best part is that my husband's new company dropped the insurance plan just before we had paid off the sky-high deductible (the exact amount of which, by the way, I still don't know because I was too busy packing up all our belongings, trying to keep our house in good enough shape to show to prospective buyers, and looking for a new house in another town . . . oh, yeah, and taking care of a toddler and an infant . . . to actually look through all the stacks of paperwork that insurance companies usually, but in this case maybe not, send listing a million things you don't need to know plus somewhere in small print your deductible), so we had to start all over just four months later with a new deductible with a new company. Which is why I have not gone to the optometrist or my gynecologist. Because damn, my parts just cost too much.

Thank goodness I didn't go to the ER for that stupid gold nugget. I said I didn't have time, and I just barfed and writhed until the pain finally subsided a bit. I happened to have a doctor appointment the next day -- pre-eclampsia follow-up -- and waited until then to tell her about my barfing and my, by then, just very sore side. She sent me for a CT scan or an MRI or whatever -- don't know what the difference is. Except I'm betting the one I got was the more expensive of the two. The only reason I agreed to take the time to go was that I was afraid it might, just might, have something to do with my reproductive organs, which are in cahoots with someone or other, too, because they cost me a lot but mostly just give me grief and pain.

When the CT/MRI results came back showing a small kidney stone remaining, it was the doc's best guess that that's what had caused the barfing and writhing episode. HOWEVER, and there is always a however when we are dealing with deceitful kidneys, there was a "large mass" on the right side. They couldn't identify it, but suspected it was my ovary, since they couldn't find it anywhere else. Okay, next time I will know that this is just doctor-speak for "everything is fine but we're covering our asses." But my doc recommended an ultrasound to find my ovary.

Now, how an ovary could go missing without my knowing it, I do not know. I can see it now: a postcard in the mail saying MISSING! with a pic of my right ovary, complete with age-enhanced endometrial adhesions. Last seen: November 2004. Last seen with: and a pic of the ob/gyn who performed my c-section.

But I digress. I let them look for the missing ovary because A)I had no idea what the deductible was on our new insurance, and B) the word ovary scares me because during my c-section from hell (which lasted way longer than scheduled because they couldn't close until they removed a large fibroid tumor that just happened to be sticking out of the incision, and for which I was given a spinal instead of an epidural so that there was limited time for them to work until the anesthesia wore off, so that, although it didn't really hurt, I definitely felt every single staple go into my body when they finally were able to close -- oh, yeah, and this was all before my blood pressure skyrocketed), I, drifting in and out of consciousness, clearly heard the doctor say, "Looks like ovarian cancer." Now, sure, he could have been talking about some other patient, or even the cauliflower in the salad he'd had for lunch that day, or whatever, but since he was standing over my splayed insides, with his hands inside said insides, I naturally figured he was talking about me. And so I thought I had cancer for the next two weeks, during which I told no one because I didn't want to upset them, and I just waited for the lab results to come back. I guess they were okay because no one told me I had cancer, and they did eventually let me leave the hospital. Still, still, when someone tells me my ovary went missing after a scare like that, I let them torture me with the magic trans-vaginal ultrasound wand.

Which apparently cost a fortune, according to our most recent bill.

You know, I think the ovary was in cahoots with the kidney, and that's why he was missing. I'm sure it's back now, lounging around in the vacant double lot left by the fibroid tumor, snacking on caviar -- little cannibal that it is -- bought with the pay-off from the insurance scam.

Well, I have three words to say to you, little bastards: EARLY ORGAN DONATION, that's what! How ya like them apples?