Experiencing the Tokyo medical system wasn't exactly on our list of things to do while living in Japan. But there we were, standing at the admissions counter in the emergency room of the Japanese Red Cross hospital. Thankfully the waiting room was virtually empty, except for two moms and two boys sporting super hero pajamas, who kept darting around the waiting room indiscriminately, like lab rats attempting an escape. One woman told us not to worry, they weren't contagious. The man at the check-in window spoke very little English but knew enough to tell us our Japanese government issued Alien registration card was not sufficient proof of Russell's identification. Neither was his hard earned Japanese Driver's license. What is then? DNA testing? Nevertheless, they let us in anyway and we took a seat in the shockingly clean and almost cheerful waiting room.
After the third announcement in Japanese, when no one else in the waiting room got up and slipped into one of the ten examination rooms, I figured they might be calling us. I went up to the window and asked them to tell me what the announcement meant. Apparently it meant for us to go into examination room nine.
Russell relayed the progression of his symptoms to the female attendant, using various forms of the same words until she understood them, while she took his blood pressure and temperature. Stomach pain started around six, (pointing to the areas while describing) pain progressively worse, now at a six on a scale of 10, may I have a pain killer please? I knew they wouldn't be able to give him anything for the pain until they diagnosed the issue. They handed him a thermometer. When he started to put it in his mouth, the attendant gesticulated wildly and pointed to his arm pit. Oh, I guess it goes there. Ok. Better there than other places it could go.
His temperature was normal but his blood pressure was elevated, which for Russell meant really high. Russell's blood pressure is always low. Doctors often confuse him for a marathon runner, which I find mildly irritating because he only runs when being chased by bears, unlike myself who runs every other day. They were about to turn us out into the waiting room again, but Russell's grimace of pain and six foot stature convinced her otherwise.
She led us to a draped examination bed about one foot off the ground. He may never get up off that I thought. I'd have difficulty even without pain. A team of white coated, Crocs shod staff descended upon him, three females and one male. They all looked under twenty-five and it was impossible to tell who was a nurse, doctor, or candy striper. They removed his pants and began pushing on his abdomen and groin area, giggling and talking in excited Japanese. Generally three women giggling around a man's groin is disconcerting, but Russell didn't care. Just give me something for the pain.
A saline drip was administered and blood was taken. Russell looked away. He gets light headed when he nicks himself shaving. Soon he had to pee every five minutes. I told him, now he knows how I feel. I have to go every five minutes, without saline. He didn't look amused. He kept apologizing for ruining the weekend. The weekend! Who cares. Just please, please, please be OK. I really want to celebrate future anniversaries.
The team came back and rolled him away for 15 minutes to do a CT scan. Analysis proved he had a kidney stone. The stone had become stuck in the tube between the kidney and his bladder, which was what had caused the intense pain he was feeling now. The stone had since passed into his bladder. His kidney and bladder were both enlarged from the initial blockage and his renal function was poor. Of course this was not translated as succinctly as I just stated it. It took several attempts, some hand gestures and a couple of roughly rendered drawings.
Pain killer was finally, blessedly, bestowed.
Russell and I both breathed a sigh of relief. We knew people who had passed kidney stones and survived; maybe we'd have our anniversary weekend after all. I started to gather up his clothes thinking we'd be dismissed soon until they informed us he'd have to stay in the hospital until Monday. Monday! But we have reservations at Joel Robuchon on Sunday!
They said they wanted to monitor his renal function. We guessed they didn't want to tell him the worst might be yet to come when he passed the stone completely.
An hour later he was admitted into a room of his own. It looked like a hotel room, not a hospital room:
wood paneled cabinets, flat screen television, cream leather sofa, with a view of twinkling Tokyo. The only give away was the roll away bed and omnipresent IV stand. They gave him a cheerful yellow smock to wear. It tied at the side and fell just above his knees. I felt it unfair the smock didn't reveal his back side like the ones American hospitals make you wear for the sole purpose of making you feel more vulnerable then you already do.
They also gave him a mesh cup to determine if he passed the stone.
By the time he was finally settled in it was 1:30 in the morning. Neither one of us had eaten anything.
Russell insisted I go home and take care of Ranger the Wonder dog who was probably frantic by now. That or luxuriating on Russell's side of the bed, mauling an innocent sock. It was the latter.
A couple of Triscuits and pieces of See's candies later, (hey, a girls gotta eat, I thought about opening some wine but I was too tired), and I was fast asleep, Ranger attached to me like a rib.
When I returned to the hospital the next morning Russell was full of energy and anxious to go. No stone had passed yet. He had no pain and was raving about the gourmet breakfast he had eaten. He proudly showed me a picture of it. He'd already called his parents and our stateside doctor Dr. Maples who, after confirming all the proper procedures had been performed, glibly informed him "this too will pass". I love Dr. Maples.
He had already begun negotiations with the freshly arrived day shift nurse about being released. She didn't just know English, she used slang terms and spoke with the laid back cadence of a ganja smoking beach bum. She sounded like she was from Huntington Beach. Turns out she went to high school in Florida. She said she would help. She was great.
The impossibly young doctor was very prescriptive and thorough in his review of Russell's case. He spoke very slowly, thoughtfully, almost cautiously, pausing frequently to make sure we understood what he said. Russell began his campaign for freedom, enthusiastically explaining he had no pain, felt great and, the clincher, lived just five minutes away. So in case anything happened he could be back right away.
The doctor acquiesced, giving strict instructions for Russell to continue using the screen, and even more importantly, to immediately check back into the hospital if the pain reconstituted and the medication didn't work. Russell practically skipped out of the hospital.
That night, Saturday, we had dinner with friends as planned, although Russell faded quickly. The next day was our anniversary. After a leisurely day Russell felt well enough to make our dinner reservation at Joel Robuchon's three Michelin starred restaurant. As we dressed for dinner, Russell assessed my outfit, and found it lacking. To my amazement he pulled out a black velvet box. Shimmering inside, like my tears of amazement, were diamond earrings. Now my outfit was complete. I'm sorry. I already received a gift - a healthy husband.
Russell passed the kidney stone after dinner without pain. Not unlike me opening the velvet box earlier that evening, he was surprised to find the stone in the screen. Hey, how'd that get there?
So I guess you could say we both got stones this weekend, or is it "rocks."
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