Thursday was my wedding anniversary. Brian was supposed to return late but he was home when we returned after a full afternoon/evening of art class, kite-dragging (we picked the only windless day in a month to fly kites), kung fu, and a lecture about victory gardens. So we had a late celebratory dinner of tuna salad and champagne (V had pizza and milk), I read V a chapter in--get this--Olivia Kidney and the Exit Academy, and I was getting ready to finish up the day when I got a horrible backache.

It happened instantly and I was trying to figure out what I might have done to wrench that area when the pain spread to my left side and I was compelled to review my celebratory dinner briefly before flushing it. I couldn't find any position to relieve the pain, so I checked my health insurance card to see what I was supposed to do (I still haven't got a doctor in Columbus. I keep meaning to do that.)

They had a number for my Health Coach. Slowest talking woman in the world. She was puzzled by some mix-up in the file. Apparently someone with my name and address but a different birthday is married to my husband and she thought I would like to clear that up before proceeding. I'm still not sure what a Health Coach is supposed to be. I hung up and convinced Brian to drive me to an emergency room.

And this is where the story gets good, because if you have never been to a suburban emergency room (I had not) they are glorious! I walked in, someone saw me right away (although he did insist that I sit in a chair, while at the time I felt crawling on the floor would be a better idea) and they put me right in a room and drugs right in my arm and this happened in maybe fifteen minutes, tops. Everyone suspected a kidney stone and a CAT scan confirmed that I had a big one, but not big enough for intervention especially since it was almost through. They sent me home with a a sack of drugs but I already feel better. They also gave me a pee filter, which is yucky.