It Who Shall Not Be Named

I haven't blogged in a few days, because I have been extremely busy.

What with all the writhing, moaning, gasping, pleading for relief, and generalized whining, who had time to blog?

Why all this carrying on, you ask?

You know, the word kidney has nice connotations. We love our kidneys, some people even give other people one of theirs.

There are kidney beans, we like our pools to have a kidney shape. There's kidney pie (eww. These people eat blood pudding, too, and I wouldn't want to eat either one).

The word stone is okay too. David slew a giant with a smooth, round stone. There's stone soup. (yummy). We have stone walkways, stone chimneys, we tell folks a place is just a stone's throw away.  We listen to the Rolling Stones. And they gather no moss. Some people collect stones.

But when you put the word kidney and the word stone together, that's quite a different story.

When one has a kidney stone and it is moving in one's body, it is akin to trying to deliver a very angry porcupine. Once delivered, they resemble a hard little rock with spikes all over it's surface.

The first one I had (and I shall not call them by their name), was many years ago. I was amazed at how I was suddenly all consumed. It passed in a few hours, and no damage seemed to be done.

I was in town a few days later when a man approached me. I've known him all my life, he is probably twelve to fifteen years older than I. We speak when we see each other, but have never held a conversation.

But this time he came right up to me and said, "I understand you are one of us now."

I quickly scanned my brain to see what I had joined via work. Nada. So I looked at him, smiled, and, as is my very chatty way, politely said, "Huh?"

He'd heard about  my you-know (do we live in a small town, or what?), and said once you were a member of this particular club, it was a lifetime membership.

I was extremely alarmed. I said, "I don't want to be in your club! I never want to experience that again!"

He smiled serenely, patted my shoulder and walked away.

I decided then and there I would avoid anyone I knew who had been afflicted.

A year later I had another one. It was bigger. It took longer to pass. I had the unfortunate addition of it hitting me while I was at my Mother's, who became fairly  hysterical as my groaning, writhing, pacing, etc., escalated. She begged me to go to the emergency room. I tried to patiently scream at her that I could not ride in a car, I might  jump out, and I would kill someone in the emergency room if not treated wtih respect and speed.

But my sister-in-law showed up and insisted I go. When I walked through the ER doors, a nurse looked up and hollered, "Kidney stone!" and took me right back.

She told me on the way to a room that she'd had five kids and one kidney stone and would rather have five more children than one more of the other. They gave me pain medication, put some fluid in me, and I passed it.

I vowed to never even say the two words aloud again. EVER. And if anyone even said the word kidney, I left the room, just in case.

A year later I had another one. This was the big one, Elizabeth. The other two had been child's play. I called the urologist (yes, I had one by then), and he said if I didn't pass it in so many hours, to come in.

Well, I passed it. It was so big it plinked in the water, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.

I was passing blood the next morning, so I journeyed on to the doctor. Massive infection, massive tearing.

At that point, I decided that anytime I sensed the club was having a meeting about something or other, I would sit in the back, be as quiet as a doormouse, fade into the furniture, a wall flower. ANYTHING not to be  noticed. And for safety's sake, I'd keep my hands over my ears.

And a dozen years or more passed. And that was all that passed.

Until Tuesday. And, of course, you know the rest of the story.

It's gone now.

But I fear I have been elected an officer at a meeting I didn't attend.