The Ultrasound Scan

Yesterday I went to see a urologist who cheerfully informed me that I have kidney stones. I have to admit that I don’t feel any heavier than normal, so they can’t be very big stones.

The urologist seemed concerned about them though, so I sat and listened carefully to what he had to say.

He mentioned something about the fact that kidney stones often broke up and were passed in the urine. I could see why he was worried. If I start peeing bits of gravel, I could chip the pan.

The specialist though, seemed to be more worried about the pane when I passed them. The pane?! Did he think I was going to pee on windows or something?!

Since kidney stones are no fashionable, I apparently have to get rid of them. So, he told me, they are going to put me to sleep (only temporarily, I hope) and they will use a fancy machine that makes sound waves that blast the stones into tiny fragments. He has assured me that nothing else will be blasted into tiny fragments. Me and my internal organs are happy about that.

This stone-blaster, he assures me, is very hi-tech, expensive equipment. So, this is a costly procedure. I asked him whether I could just stand at the side of the road and get a few boy racers and their boom boxes to drive past and achieve the same effect, but he didn’t seem to think that this idea would work. To a man of Scots heritage like me, that is a great pity.

I should mention here that the urologist discovered there were kidney stones in my kidneys because of the ultrasound scan I had a few weeks ago. Having an ultrasound scan is a very interesting experience.

I had to go to Upper Hutt to have the scan because there is no ultrasound scanner in the Wairarapa. Well, only those used for scanning racehorses and other valuable animals. Human animals are apparently don’t make enough start money to warrant the provision of this sort of equipment here.

I was told that I must drink lots of water before I went for my scan. Apparently bloated people scan better than less waterlogged individuals.

So, on the day of my appointment I packed my bottle of water and headed off on the one hour drive to Upper Hutt. Now I know that one is not supposed to drink and drive but this was on doctor’s orders! Not many drink drivers can honestly claim that!

I had finished about two thirds of the contents of the 750ml bottle by the time I reached my destination, a nondescript bunch of buildings in Upper Hutt that apparently houses a variety of medical-related organisations, if the number of obviously intellectually handicapped folk entering one part of the building was any indication. I have to admit that, as I took yet another swig of water into my full tummy, I wondered whether I could be considered intellectually handicapped for doing this.

But, I bravely took another swig, then capped the bottle, opened the car door, and soggily walked around to the entrance to the Ultrasound laboratory.

I didn’t have to wait long before my time on the machine came, but the operator made one scan then told me that the water I had drunk had not yet worked its way through my system. I was apparently supposed to have drunk lots of water at least an hour beforehand. It would have been nice to have been told that. ~sigh~

So I was sent to sit in the waiting room to continue drinking lots of water, and wait.

As all domesticated males do, I quietly obeyed orders and sat, drank, and waited. After half an hour the water started to work and I began to be uncomfortable. After three quarters of an hour I was busting, but the ultrasound specialist was working on other patients. It got so bad that I idly toyed with the idea of sneaking outside and relieving myself behind a tree. But, hey, I had come all this way and what was a little bit of utter agony …

Finally, it got so bad that I approached the receptionist and in my best plaintive tone asked how long it was going to be. The receptionist smiled at me and told me to hold on because it wouldn’t be long. She didn’t say *what* to hold onto, but I got the idea. Actually, the urge to pee was so bad I more needed to tie a knot in it than just hold onto it!

Half an agonising hour later, I was just about ready to water the nearby pot plant when the ultrasound operator came out and invited me into the ultrasound room.

I went into as fast as any person walking with crossed legs can.

As I climbed onto the scanning table, the ultrasound lady smilingly told me that not letting people pee used to be a medieval torture. I imagined her in a hood and medieval robes and they suited her!

She then spent the next 15 minutes pushing painfully hard on my overfull stomach and ribs with this thing that looked like a overlarge checkout barcode scanner, then finally told me that I could go relieve myself. She’d finish off the rest after that, she said. I heard the last bit as I was heading out the door.

Having found the loo (I wonder whether they have ever considered the risks of putting a storeroom between the scanning room and the toilet) and spent quite some time watering the bowl, idly thinking that if a fire broke out right then it wouldn’t stand a hope in hell with a hose as well stocked as mine.

After that I went back to the scanning room and the operator continued to take lots of sound pictures of my internal organs before letting me rearrange my clothing and depart, still slightly soggy but no longer feeling like an over-inflated airbed.

As a momento of my exciting experience, the ultrasound lady gave me lots of ultrasound negatives - black TV screen pictures seemingly made up of random white lines. Apparently the expert can see pictures in them that mere mortals can’t. I’d frame them and have them hanging as modern art except for the memories they would rekindled.

On the other hand, they could hang in the toilet…

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Allan