“Papa Has a Kidney Stone”
“Well Mr. Bruno,” my urologist explained, “It looks as though that kidney stone has gotten itself stuck. We’re going to have to go in and get it.”
These words distracted me from ruminating of the urologist’s baldness. That’s right he was bald, but it was the kind of bald that looked like a fashion statement of the manliest kind.
This is opposed to my kind of baldness- the kind that looks like I had suffered a mishap while starting up a gas grill.
“Mr. Bruno? Did you hear what I said Mr. Bruno?”
“Yes.” I made eye contact, “I just had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.”
“Well the CT scans don’t lie I’m afraid. It’s pretty well stuck in there.”
I sighed, “So I spent a week straining my urine for nothing.”
“I understand your frustration.”
Straining your urine. Sounds kind of absurd doesn’t it? Well it looks pretty damn absurd when you’re doing it I can tell you that; a solid week of standing at the toilet, one hand holding my Thunder Lizard and the other a plastic funnel with a fine mesh at the bottom.
And please don’t forget that most of the time I was doing this I was stoned out of my mind on Vicadin. I hit my toes, my bathrobe and in one moment of combined brilliance and clumsiness even managed to ricochet my urine stream off the lip of the plastic funnel back into my eye.
I began to wonder when it was I had crossed the line from medical science to fetish video.
I think I was Tuesday, but don’t quote me on that.
“So what happens now?” I asked.
“Well two days from now you come down to the surgery center. We put you under and we get that stone out before it causes any kind of serious damage. It looks like it should come out pretty easily; I don’t think any cutting will be necessary.”
He smiled reassuringly when he said that but to my Jedi senses it was as though thousands of wieners had cried out in terror and were suddenly flaccid.
Of course I’m kidding, I’m not a Jedi and I don’t have thousands of readers.
We finished with some pre-surgery guidelines -no eating or drinking after midnight. I wasn’t implicitly told to refrain from masturbating but I felt it was implied. I went over some insurance paperwork and made sure that they knew my wife would have final say over what happened to me should I slip into a coma.
Note to self; clean out the dishwasher STAT.
“Now,” he said, “Do you have any questions?”
I nodded, “Yes I have a few. Can you-”
“Now please keep in mind there is nothing I can do to make your penis larger.”
“Oh, well what about-”
“And I can’t make your foreskin come back.”
I slunk back in my seat, “Never mind then.”
Next he explained to me that I might come out of this with a stent and then picked me up off the floor when he was finished.
The drive home from the urologist was a somber experience to say the least. I ha always assumed that if I was going to pay someone to manhandle my junk it would have been a sprightly Korean woman with red hair, masseuse training and a willingness to wear a spanglely catsuit similar to the one Wendy Padbury wore in the 1968 Doctor Who serial The Mind Robber.
If you have no idea what I’m talking about but you’re disturbed anyway, then you know how my wife and child feel every day.
Speaking of my wife and child when I gave them the news my wife was the very epitome of love and concern. My daughter’s only comment was that she hoped it didn’t ruin her plans for the school’s holiday party.
Hearing that I started to worry that perhaps this was a sign that my daughter was becoming a cold and unemotional sociopath. Just to be sure this wasn’t the case I told her that Hanna Montana was canceled.
The way she shrieked and tore at her clothes was such a relief to me.
So now here I am waiting for the morning of Thursday the 17th, and there are a lot of butterflies in my stomach. Yes I know I will be unconscious, yes I know this is a simple outpatient procedure.
But my imagination won’t let those facts take hold, the instinct to imagine things going hilariously or hideously wrong has me in its sway. Will I contract the flesh eating virus or will there be a major earthquake just as the doctor starts to do his work?
Lets face it folks, every time we go to the hospital it brings us one step closer to that final trip to the hospital.
I know that there are people out there with real medical problems and I shouldn’t whine. This is probably just my midlife crisis talking here. My 41st birthday was a few months ago and it brought to me the realization of my own mortality. And things like this just bring it home to me all the more. I guess on some level I always thought that death was something I would be able to weasel out of, like jury duty or foreplay.
Thankfully I have been able to distress by writing things like this.
So I’m sure everything will turn out ok.
But just in case thanks for reading…