Wheeled Down For a Stent

I’m nervous; not only about how much discomfort or pain I might experience, but also because I’m not sure that the doctor will be able to insert a stent. I don’t want a nephrostomy bag and catheter on my back for six months.

Once again, I’m wheeled into an operating theatre. The doctor – a radiologist – is kitted out in what looks like camouflage-style body armour, which is actually radiation protection gear. He’s a man of few words, totally concentrating on the task at hand, which is both comforting and a little unsettling.

I climb onto the bed of a scanning machine and lie on my stomach. (Remember, my stomach is still sore from my operation, but I’m determined to put up with any discomfort if it will increase the chances of success.)

I see the kind nurse who held my hand and gave words of encouragement during the insertion of the kidney tube. She is about to leave to go to another room, but I ask her if she could stay. She looks to the doctor, who nods.

With my head turned away and the nurse holding my hand, the doctor begins. I try to breathe shallowly and not move a muscle. There are three or four people in the room looking on. They all fall silent. A few minutes later I let out a yelp and they all cheer. “That’s what we wanted to hear,’ the doctor says. Apparently, the stent is in place. I have a tremendous feeling of relief. Shakily, I get off the bed thanking everyone for their efforts as the doctor rushes away to see another patient.

I get wheeled back up to the ward, where I lie in bed, adrenaline-exhausted. Then I phone Rob to give him the good news. It’s still only 10am and I wonder if I’ll be allowed to go home. The answer is no: I have to spend one more night in hospital to make sure there are no complications or bleeding following the procedure. Nevertheless, I’m happy…