Greg and the kidney stone

Some have heard this story already, after all, it makes for good entertainment, but for those readers who don’t know me or haven’t heard it, let me tell you the story.

Almost a year after arriving in South Africa, I fell pregnant with Daniel. Greg and I were living in a little cottage in Hout Bay. Greg had reconnected with his friends after having been overseas for 6 years. One of Greg’s friends, Anton, had a longterm Dutch partner called Carine, they lived in Greenpoint, Cape Town with their 2 year old daughter, Katja.

Greg & Katja in Anton & Carine's flat in Greenpoint, Cape Town

Carine and I got on well immediately. We were both from close families living far away from home. I couldn’t get over this very understated beautiful tall Dutch girl who was so unequivocally herself and unaware of her natural beauty. She was down to earth and warm, I felt immediately at ease in her company and we became close friends.

Anton & Carine would often have impromptu braais (barbeques) at their house. Carine had a wonderful habit of producing a delicious feast with seemingly little effort and from barely anything in the fridge. Anton would start the braai, there really was no time schedule, we would come around 6 but dinner could be anything between 7 and 10.

You just had to go with the flow, it was Welch time.

Somehow it didn’t really matter though, we always had fun, it was a home where all our friends gathered. Invariably Carine would’ve just come back from a modeling shoot looking like, well, a model. Drop dead gorgeous. Still made up from her shoot, but now with a random clip in her hair she was in mom mode carrying Katja on her hip, moving around with ease as she worked off a little two plate electric stove, shouting Bokkie start the braai, but never really raising her voice or getting worked up, it all just miraculously happened.

Lucky Anton.

Carine, Anton & baby Katja

So this one night we were invited around for another braai. Nothing unusual. We ate late, had fun, got into our car to go home. As we were driving home to Hout Bay along the coastal route, Greg started to complain of a sore tummy.

Oh, I said, looking at him strangely. Do you want me to drive?

Yes.

Oh.

Yes, odd.

Greg always wants to drive, but maybe he just needs to get home and lie down, I thought. We pulled over onto the hard shoulder and exchanged places. He was not looking well.

Important to know. I am 6 months pregnant.

We arrive home. Greg just about manages to get himself up the stairs, grunting and groaning, doubled over in agony.

Wow. I’ve never seen him like this, my anxiety starts to creep in.

Now we’re cleaning our teeth, getting ready for bed. But Greg can barely clean his teeth, he is on top of the bed rolling around in agony.

Oh my goodness gracious me, maybe we need a doctor. I can barely think. My mouth feels dry and I can hardly get my words out. I manage to muster, shall I call the doctor, thinking for sure he’ll firmly say no, he hates doctors, well you know what I mean he’s averse to anything medical.

But he says yes.

Ok, anxiety probably now a 10, who is our doctor? I can’t even remember. Who the hell is our doctor?

Aaahhhhhh I’m dying, I’m dying.

Greg says he’s dying.

Anxiety up to the max and I am now on overdrive, I can remember who our doctor is. It's Stuart Baines. But never mind just calling him, Greg says he’s dying, so we need the ambulance, emergency services, whatever I can pull out the hat.

What’s your address, they say.

I struggle to remember that too, but Greg is now pleading with me to put some clothes on him. You see he’s in his underpants. And my husband is a private chap so he wants to look presentable for the doctor who is about to arrive.

I’m not feeling like this is an urgency, he says he’s dying, who cares that he’s semi naked. But no, put my clothes on he’s saying. So I grab whatever I can find lying on the floor and start putting his legs into what feels like a tight pair of tracksuit pants. Oh gosh they look like my maternity leggings, they’re very tight, but who cares. No one will know. There’s a bulge at the front.

What the hell have you got on me, he’s saying with gritted teeth.

Don’t worry, don’t worry Gregory they’re just my maternity pants, it’s fine.

It’s not fine.

Well too late because the doctor has arrived. Stuart Baines, our doctor has arrived, I want to kiss him. Will he save Greg?

The ambulance, the firefighters, the police are now outside the house. Sirens going. Everyone must know, we have an emergency on our hands.

Stuart Baines says Greg needs to go to hospital, he suggests he gets taken by ambulance and I drive behind. Does he know what it could be I ask, my teeth now chattering.

No, he says.

Why do doctors always say no?

Can’t they say, well look I think it’s this, but he’ll be ok. No, they add to the drama by just saying, no. Well, I’m not so much in love with you anymore Stuart Baines, you’re not being helpful in pacifying this pregnant lady, soon to be widow of a fatherless child.

Off we go to the City Park hospital. I can’t remember getting there really but they get Greg hooked up onto a drip and give him a whole lot of morphine. He’s still in pain for a little while longer.

Some nurse mentions to me that this could be alcohol poisoning, they get this all the time. My maternal instincts have kicked in and my milk is coming in, I am looking a nervous wreck but this nurse is bluntly theorising what Greg’s symptoms might be.

As I sit there I realise, nobody knows. Nobody knows that Greg’s in hospital. Nobody knows that he’s dying and he might not live to see another day.

So channeling my emergency skills, I call Anton. No, not his mom or dad, I call Anton. It must be about 2 in the morning.

Anton, I whisper, when he answers.

Yes, he says in a muffled voice. I’ve just woken him up.

Anton, sorry to phone you at this time, but Greg is dying. He’s in emergency, nobody knows what’s wrong. He’s in a lot of pain. I think you need to come.

He doesn’t question, he comes off the phone, mumbles to Carine, I think Sally’s lost it.

But what he does now is very interesting.

He puts on his smartest clothes. He’s off to hospital to say goodbye to his friend.

In no time, Anton arrives. He walks into the room, sheepishly. He also hates hospitals, but duty calls, his friend hasn’t got much longer.

At that moment, Greg’s morphine kicks in, he’s now feeling quite perky. As I show Anton to the room, Greg is now sat up looking rather chirpy.

Hello Welch, he grins.

Anton looks at me.

I promise you Anton, he said he was dying.

It wasn’t until about 6 or 7 in the morning that he passes the kidney stone.

I think this is the night it all went wrong, pre kidney stone