#stent

Egy csoda hetet töltöttem a kòrhàzban komoly gyulladàs ès vesekő miatt. Egy 4 mm nagysàgù kő elzàròdàst okozott a jobb oldali hùgyvezetèkemben. Hogy segìtsenek a vesèmnek egy JJ stent-et helyeztek fel. Nem kellemes eszköz. Àllandò vèrzèst ès fàjdalmat okoz minden wc soràn. 😐 Nyilvàn a kő mèg ott lapul a stent mellett, amely csoda folytàn màr csak 3 mm. Kő zùzàsig mèg pihenek àmbàr màr nem a kòrhàzban.

Valami ilyen pici mègis ekkora bajt tud okozni... Sose a mèret alapjàn ìtèljen az ember..☝️

A durva az egèszben, hogy az ember az egyik nap mèg dolgozik a màsik nap hajnalàn màr viszi a mentő.

Sosem feküdtem bent kòrhàzban. Nem tudtam mire szàmìtsak... Mi a " protokoll". Az ember teljesen ki van szolgàltatva idegen helyen idegen embereknek. A làz, fàjdalom ès az ezek eredmènyekènt születő lelki törès borzalmas. Sajàt magam pszichès vezetèse, hogy teljesen ne zuhanjak össze a legnehezebb.

I watched his tense reaction closely. He seemed preoccupied.

The dark brown skin of his broad forehead furrowed into a little triple-vee frown between thick eyebrows. His elbow remained anchored against the black rigid arm of his chair while a white narrow forearm pillowed a tightly closed fist against his jaw. He suddenly reminded me of that famous sculpture “The Thinker” by Auguste Rodin poising before The Gates of Hell.

Dr. M. slowly tapped a stuttering pencil against an open notebook.

Tap! Tap! Ratta-tap-tap!

The irregular beat banged forth annoyingly.

“You have to make a decision,” he said as the drumbeats grew louder and louder above the word-crowded pad in front of him. "We agreed to that after our last meeting."

A faint whiff of stale cigarette smoke hung in the air as I glanced at the hand gripping the offending pencil. Dark yellow tar-‘n-nicotine stains smeared the inner recesses of his index and middle fingers, contrasting dramatically with the pure white sleeve-ends of his jacket.

I was annoyed and also sympathetic, having once been a smoker myself. I smirked silently and rubbed my coarse tongue back-n-forth against the ribbed roof of my mouth to scrape the imagined bitter taste away. Old habits die hard even now.

Perhaps the Hippocratic Oath should really be the Hypocritic Oath, I mused.

I sighed. No matter.

“I have decided,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

“Okay. Just to be clear. We’re just going in there and take a look,” Dr. M. paused dramatically . . .

“. . . but, if we do find something, we’re going to fix it right then and there. Correct?”

I didn’t hesitate but crossed my fingers under the table anyway. “Right!”

We had already discussed the possibility of a stent insertion if he found a blocked artery. I didn’t really relish the idea of the invasive procedure, but I knew that my life might depend on it. The old ticker suddenly skipped a beat in my chest as I pondered what all this meant.

He glanced at his calendar.