A Night in a Kingston ER

I think that when I got groggily out of bed at 1am, my thought was that I was up just to go pee. But 30 minutes later the pain was so blinding that the drive to the hospital is only a blurred memory. Which is not to say I neglected to offer Jennifer my idea of the most efficient route (I think I could be crossing the river Jordan with the specter of death and still be cocky about the best route).  Anyway, looking at the little kidney stone now, it's hard to believe the bastard capable of inflicting such pain. But upon arrival, the doctor's blasé demeanor was so profound that I realized I was probably not going to die. I was, however, destined to sit there in a chair for the next 13 hours.

First-world eyes are apt to recoil from what healthcare in developing nations looks like. Dingy tiles and rusty railings, with jerry-rigged wiring and bare bulbs. Yet I was in so much pain, that the nurse who put a shot of painkiller in my ass seemed like the pristine angel of Florence Nightingale. Yes, I was seen to relatively quickly: examined, blood drawn, pain-killer administered, and finally shunted over to sit in one of 7 chairs for those of us not deserving of a gurney. Later I would come to appreciate my luck in getting one of the 3 slightly padded chairs, for it was my new home for every excruciating micrometer of my stone's passage from kidney to bladder.

Through it all, I could not fault the staff; they did what was necessary for me while juggling the considerably more serious emergencies that emerge out of the Kingston night. Of those on the gurneys was a gunshot (stabbing?) victim who screamed in pain when treated and had periodic visits by different wailing women. There was a loco tied to the bed who sat glaring for a couple hours, then began to holler obscenities and pleas while his mother tried to get him to shut up. Constables brought one in and fastened him to the gurney with handcuffs. Over in the non-critical, seated section, there was me, groaning and spasming while some people snored, until the stone passed and they gave me some morphine and I joined the snorers as the sun came up.

Daylight brought a shift change and my family of compadres on the chairs seemed to be suddenly gone. New folk came, but it wasn't the same...I was strangely comforted by the loco who continued to yell, for it meant my night had not been a dream. There I stayed, in my chair, for many more hours while I was given several bags of intravenous hydration, waiting for lab results that would not come until 2:30pm. Jennifer brought me food and chocolates that I shared with my new friends on the chairs. The embassy nurse and doctor stopped by, and I couldn't help be embarrassed by their attention, their efficiency, the fact that two well-dressed white women were swooping in make sure the one white guy in the ER was OK. Don't get me wrong, if I ever really thought I was in danger, I would have gotten over my embarrassment pretty quick.

Then I was shunted off to the non-emergency room next door for a couple hours. It was just me with mostly old folk. At one point, a lady was wheeled in a chair next to me, and she was groaning and spasming and crying in pain. I waited a long time, but finally could only imagine she too was passing a kidney stone (she wasn't) and asked if she wanted to hold my hand. It was a relief when they took her away to get a dose of morphine and by the time she returned, dozing, they were finally ready to let me go home. That was yesterday at 3pm. This morning I went pee and heard "tink" as the little bastard ultimately found his way out of my body and into the porcelain bowl.