The Lost Kidney

 Ten years ago today I lost my kidney. 

Today I am celebrating the ten wonderful years I have shared with Robert and our family since that day. 

One evening in August, the 11th to be precise,  I woke with severe abdominal pains, which I attributed to an abscess that had plagued me. I must have been crook because I let Robert take me to the Emergency Department at a local Public Hospital. There I was given some painkillers and a CT scan, the radiographer asked me quite a lot of questions and repeated the scan. I got an inkling that something was awry when I was transferred to a private room (that isn't what happens in a Public Hospital).

After a few hours sleep a doctor came in to talk to me. He bluntly told me I had a large tumor on my kidney and said "You know what that means!" He planned to transfer me to a private hospital for treatment and surgery. That was a lot to take in so we called our son the surgeon. 

It so happened that the son was having a research day at a university on the other side of Sydney so he was able to get away. He hopped in his car, drove to the hospital, signed me out and bundled me into his car. He spoke to some colleagues and made arrangements for me to be admitted to the private hospital where he worked. He wanted to keep an eye on me. 

After dropping me off  he left me in the care of a geriatrician (was I that old?) and other assorted specialists. I spent a week at that hospital having a range of tests to plan my surgery plus IV drugs to clear up the abscess. 

I even scored a room with a view!

I was then allowed to go home for a week to rest and get ready for surgery. During this time I had a black cloud hanging over me. I knew what that doctor had meant when he said "You know what that means!" Thinking the worst I thought that I may not be around for much longer.

On the 24th August I went into surgery and was pleased to wake up in Intensive Care  to discover that, apart from a little hiccup, the surgery was successful. The next few days were a blur thanks to the drugs. I was moved to a regular room where I was so comfortable that I was able to nod off after evening visiting hours. 

Resting in Intensive Care

My lovely surgeon, Dr Kris, came in around nine one evening and apologised for waking me up. He had news to deliver, the pathology was back - the tumor was enormous but benign! I forgave him for waking me. That was one of the happiest moments of my life. I vowed to live life to the fullest. 

Ten years down the track I am so grateful for those years. We have spent many precious hours with our family and travelled to many far-flung lands. I have devoted an enormous amount of time to family history endeavours and made some wonderful friends in the geneasphere. 

I reflect on the words of my 3x Great-Grandfather, Patrick Curry who, in an interview with Caroline Chisholm in 1848,  stated “I have reared a large family in comfort, want for nothing.”

I have been similarly blessed. 

I'm also especially grateful that those mysterious gut pains led to the discovery of that nasty growth festering in my abdomen. 

A Break between Cutlets

One of the few meals that my mother cooked well was crumbed lamb cutlets which she regularly prepared for us. My kids loved these and now my grandchildren who have developed a taste for them often request when coming to our home for dinner.

Back on 6th October Robert and I prepared some cutlets for dinner with a daughter and her daughters. I had been feeling a little unwell during the day but I still managed to put three cutlets away. 

Four weeks later our other daughter and her family visited for a cutlet dinner. On this occasion Robert prepared the meal and I exercised restraint by devouring only one cutlet. 

Crumbed Cutlets - a family favourite

The four weeks between these two cutlet meals proved to be rather eventful for me.

I had a most uncomfortable night on the 6th October with sharp abdominal pain. On being woken by me early on the 7th Robert said "I'm taking you to hospital". 

By 6:30 am I had been delivered to Lake Macquarie Private Hospital Emergency Department where I was given some welcome pain relief and had blood tests and a CT scan. I was made comfortable and had to wait for the pathology and CT results. It didn't look good. I had diverticulitis, a perforated bowel and an abscess in my colon. The consultant on call wanted me transferred to the large public hospital nearby where I could have emergency surgery immediately if necessary.

So this reluctant patient was popped into an ambulance for her ride to John Hunter Hospital. On arrival I was assessed by the surgical team who, because I had other medical issues, decided to treat my condition conservatively with IV antibiotics and other mysterious potions. For nearly two weeks and after daily blood tests and two CT scans it was noted that the IV treatment wasn't doing its job and that the abscess was growing.

At this time I was tired of the public hospital and felt like a ping pong ball being bounced from one doctor to another. I finally demanded a change to a surgeon (nominated by me) and a transfer to the private hospital down the road. At last I got some action. I was transferred and scheduled for surgery on 20th August. 

Off to surgery at last

The surgeon was able to remove a couple of sections of my bowel and drain my abscess without the need for a colostomy. I spent the next 12 days (5 in ICU) in the private hospital with regular visits from my surgeon before being sent home under the care of supernurse Robert.

While I'm not eating much I am so grateful that just four weeks after that first cutlet meal I am on the road to recovery and was able to celebrate with one crumbed cutlet.

Thanks to all my family, friends and genimates who have followed my journey via Facebook. Social Media and other means. Your support is much appreciated. 

Back in Hospital ...

 ... third time in six weeks - I don't want to make a habit of this.

Just a small procedure this time.

Dripping again

 Now out of intensive care and installed in a private room but still attached to tubes and drips.

Dripping

 At North Shore Private Hospital - They're making sure they knock my infection on the head.