Possible Stone
Or Urinary Tract Infection
Following
my prostate surgery in February 2004, my urologist stated that he would like
to see me on a quarterly basis for two years. If after two years I had no
signs of cancer, then my visits would gravitate to semi-annually and eventually
yearly visits.
"I only need to see you every other visit," he shared. "We'll just do your
blood work, when I don't need to see you."
My last appointment was one in which I was not scheduled to see my urologist,
but before I left home, my wife insisted that I tell the nurse that I was
having some pain in my back and left side.
"You could have a kidney infection," she warned. "At least tell them to get
a urine sample."
"Men don't have kidney infections," I chided, "that's a woman's thing."
Of course I knew better, but I like to throw a high curve ball her way ever
so often, to keep her from crowding the plate.
"I've just got a little back pain. Maybe, I pulled a muscle washing the car
over the weekend. Anyway, the pain has moved around to my side." I reasoned.
"But, if it'll make you feel better, I'll mention it to the nurse."
At the urologist's office, the nurse ordered me to have a seat in order for
her to draw some blood from my arm.
"Um, if you don't mind, I'd rather lie down. I don't do well sitting up."
"That's fine," she stated. "I don't want to have to pick you up off the floor."
I always get the feeling that nurses label me as "one of those," when I submit
my request to lie down before being stuck with a needle. And, I imagine they
are thinking one or all of the following, "needles freak him out…he
can't take the pain…can't stand the sight of blood…or…faints
easily, what a wimp!"
While I wanted to explain that I'm not afraid of needles, and when it comes
to pain, I can hang in there with the best of them, I didn't. Why, I've had
four kidney stones, which is the male equivalent of birthing four babies,
and enough tooth troubles to last four lifetimes. I do pretty well with the
sight of blood as long as it's not mine, and as for fainting, I've only collapsed
once and that had nothing to do with blood or needles, and I didn't lose
consciousness. But, I seldom go to the trouble to explain why I prefer to
lie down when being poked with a needle.
"You may want to get a urine specimen, too. My wife thinks I may have a kidney
infection," I shared, "on account of this pain that started in my back and
has now moved around to my left side."
"I'll check with Dr. Kalish. What you're describing could be a kidney stone,"
she said, leaving the room.
Moments later she returned to take my blood.
"Dr. Kalish said he wants to see you, and we will need a urine specimen."
She drew the blood and gave me the obligatory plastic cup, directed me to
the nearest facility, and asked that after leaving the specimen on the shelf
I return to the waiting area. I didn't wait long until a different nurse
called me and said I was to have an X-ray.
"Have you had an X-ray here before," she inquired as we walked the long hallway
to the rear of the building.
"Oh, yes!"
"So, you have a kidney stone?" she probed.
"I don't think so. I've had stones before, and this pain doesn't feel like
stone-pain."
She took a couple of X-rays, one with me lying flat of my back and one with
me turned approximately forty-five degrees on my left side, which I thought
strange since my pain was on the left. I would have thought a better picture
could have been obtained if my left side were closest to the barrel of the
gun. I was then shown to a different examination room.
Dr. Kalish came in shortly afterwards, greeted me, and slapped an X-ray image
on the viewer.
Pointing to something requiring a trained eye to interpret, he said, "This
could be a stone, but maybe not. Have you ever had a stone?"
"Four of them," I replied. "In fact, that's how we met, my needing to see
you with the last one."
"Yeah, I remember," he said, tapping keys on the computer. "The records don't
go back that far on here."
He asked about my pain, which I described as mild compared to what I had
experienced in the past, and he told me to drink lots of water and strain
my urine for the next two weeks.
"Let me know if you pass that stone. No, I tell you what, call me in two
weeks, and let me hear from you either way. And, I'm going to write a
prescription for pain, so get it filled and take the pills with you, because
if that thing starts hurting and you're on the road, you don't want to be
looking for a drug store. I want you to drink two liters of water every day
in addition to whatever liquid you have at mealtime."
"Two liters?" I protested. "That's a lot of water. I'll spend all day going
to the restroom."
I promised to drink as much as I could, though I continued to doubt that
I had a kidney stone.
Noticing several small, white bars in my pelvic area on the X-ray, I asked,
"What's this, some sort of space junk?"
Dr. Kalish grinned and stated, "No, but when I get through operating on someone,
I grab whatever stuff is left over and toss it in before we close."
After giving me a minute to consider his absurdity, he continued, "Actually,
those are surgical clamps. You'll have those the rest of your life."
"Clamps?" I thought to myself. "They look like large staples to me. The next
time I have to fly somewhere, I may set off the metal detector."
I left the office thinking there was no way I was going to drink two liters
of water a day for the next two weeks, unless I became convinced I had a
kidney stone. Nonetheless, I followed the doctor's orders for three days,
but I never strained a stone. Anyway, the pain subsided within a day or two
after the office visit, and I didn't see any reason to continue with the
ater treatment program. As of this writing, a month has passed since seeing
my urologist, and I am doing well.
Flat Tire On
The Outskirts Of Drew
I had busied myself looking for red-tailed hawks, after leaving Indianola
a few weeks ago, and had driven almost to Drew, MS, when a loud thump, thumpity,
thump, thump sound came from beneath my car.
"What in the world was that?" I mused to myself. "I didn't see anything in
the road."
I glanced in the rear view mirror about the time a hand-sized piece of metal
stopped skidding atop the pavement. I quickly checked the message center
on the dash to see if there was a "low tire pressure" message. I've come
to rely on the message center to alert me if I have a flat tire or one losing
air. It's a feature new to me, since this is my first company car that had
such capabilities. The one drawback to the system is that after a tire loses
pressure beyond a certain percentage, the "low tire pressure" indicator stays
on until it is manually reset through the controls on the dash.
Whatever it was that I hit in the middle of the road punctured my left rear
tire. The message center did not alert me immediately of the condition, but
upon hearing the tire flopping on the pavement and noticing a distinct change
in handling, I prepared to pull onto the shoulder of the road to inspect
the tire. About the time I stopped, the "low tire pressure" indicator confirmed
what I already knew.
I was about a mile from a service station, so I turned on my hazard lights
and "limped" along the side of the road and out of the traffic, until I could
turn in at the station. But, it wasn't a service station in the real sense;
it was only a convenience store with gas pumps. I was about to go inside
and ask where the nearest service station was that fixed flats, when a black
man walked around the corner of the building.
"Where can I get a flat fixed around here?" I asked.
He looked puzzled and finally came up with a name that I didn't fully understand,
so I asked, "Is that downtown, somewhere? I don't live around here."
His speech was so unintelligible that I was almost convinced I had stumbled
upon the village idiot, when a group of younger looking blacks at a nearby
car wash called out, "You got a flat? Bring it down here. We can fix it."
I wasn't sure I wanted their help. All I could see was the car wash, and
while I've seen a lot of unusual sites in the Delta a combo car wash and
flat repair center wasn't one of them. Yet desperate times sometimes call
for desperate measures. Sure enough as I pulled in front of the car wash,
there was nothing to suggest a tire repair center was on the premises.
I stepped outside of the car as five blacks surrounded me. One of them asked
if I wanted him to fix my flat.
I gave him permission and opened the trunk and watched as he took out the
spare and the tools to swap the spare with the flat tire. About then, my
cell phone rang. It was a retailer wanting to order some supplies, but what
mattered most to me was the fact the phone let the gang know that I wasn't
completely unarmed. Unless they planned to take me by surprise, perhaps,
I'd have time to call 911.
The young man who changed my tire offered to ride with me to the NAPA Auto
Parts store, nearby, where he said his father worked and could repair my
flat tire. I checked my billfold and found I had fifteen dollars to my name,
and offered him five dollars for his help, reserving ten for the flat.
"Will five dollars, cover you for your trouble?" I asked, unable to tell
if he appreciated my generosity or expected more, but he took the money as
I thanked him for his help.
"I can't let you ride with me," I shared. "This is a company car, and I'm
not allowed passengers other than family or persons who work for SUPERVALU.
Actually, SUPERVALU disallows us picking up a hitchhiker, but I didn't want
to test their definition of hitchhiker, and I really didn't want my throat
slit on the way to get a flat repaired.
"What's your dad's name?" I asked. "And what's your name? I'll tell him you
helped me."
"Joe," he shared, and he told me his name was Will.
I slipped behind the wheel, closed the door, and breathed a sigh of relief,
as I pulled back onto the side road leading to the highway.
It was shortly before five o'clock when I walked into the parts store and
asked for Joe. Joe was a short, rotund man who may have been in his forties,
and, judging by the expletives with which he punctuated his phone conversation,
he doesn't moonlight as a preacher. Yet, Joe knew his way around the tire
repair center and soon had me on the road again, after repairing my tubeless
tire with a boot-patch. I reset the tire pressure monitor as I drove off
the parking lot.
There are probably a number of lessons one could learn from this story, not
the least of which would be to keep ones eye on the road instead of watching
for hawks. But, we might also conclude that life often puts us in circumstances
not of our own choosing. In those times, we may find ourselves surrounded
by persons who are good Samaritans or they may be highwaymen bent on doing
us bodily harm. Those are forces beyond our control, but we may find comfort
in knowing most folks will respect us if we respect them. While I made every
effort to show respect to the individuals I encountered, I have the feeling
a guardian angel was stationed nearby.
Bodock Beau God
Loves Blondes
We certainly don't wish to offend our blonde friends with blonde jokes, but
we are reminded that laughing at ourselves is as beneficial as laughing at
others.
God Loves Blondes
A blonde finds herself in serious trouble. Her business has gone bust and
she's in dire financial straits. She's so desperate that she decides to ask
God for help.
She begins to pray..."God, please help me. I've lost my business and if I
don't get some money, I'm going to lose my house as well. Please let me win
the Lotto."
Lotto night comes, and somebody else wins it. She again prays..."God, please
let me win the Lotto! I've lost my business, my house and I'm going to lose
my car as well."
Lotto night comes and she still has no luck. Once again, she prays..."My
God, why have You forsaken me? I've lost my business, my house, and my car.
My children are starving. I don't often ask You for help, and I have always
been a good servant to You. PLEASE let me win the Lotto just this one time
so I can get my life back in order."
Suddenly there is a blinding flash of light as the heavens open.
The blonde is overwhelmed by the Voice of God Himself..."Sweetheart, work
with Me on this... Buy a ticket"
Your Time Is Not Up Yet!
A middle-aged woman had a heart attack and was taken to the hospital. While
on the operating table, she had a near death experience.
Seeing God, she asked "Is my time up?"
God said, "No, you have another 43 years, 2 months, and 8 days to live."
Upon recovery, the woman decided to stay in the hospital and have a facelift,
liposuction, and a tummy tuck. She even had someone come in and change her
hair color. Since she had so much more time to live, she figured she might
as well make the most of it.
After her last operation, she was released from the hospital. While crossing
the street on her way home, she was killed by an ambulance.
Arriving in front of God, she demanded, "I thought you said I had another
40 years? Why didn't you pull me from out of the path of the ambulance?"
God replied, "I didn't recognize you!"
The Preacher's Donkey
A man bought a donkey from a preacher. The preacher told the man that this
donkey had been trained in a very unique way, (being the donkey of a preacher).
The only way to make the donkey go, was to say, "Hallelujah!" The only way
to make the donkey stop, was to say, "Amen!"
The man was pleased with his purchase and immediately got on the animal to
try out the preacher's instructions. "Hallelujah!" shouted the man. The donkey
began to trot. "Amen!" shouted the man. The donkey stopped immediately. "This
is great!" said the man. With a "Hallelujah," he rode off very proud of his
new purchase.
The man traveled for a long time through some mountains. Soon he was heading
toward a cliff. He could not remember the word to make the donkey stop.
"Stop," said the man. "Halt!" he cried. The donkey just kept going. "Oh,
no!. Bible!.. Church!.. Please Stop!!" shouted the man.
The donkey just began to trot faster. He was getting closer and closer to
the cliff edge. Finally, in desperation, the man said a prayer.
"Please, dear Lord. Please make this donkey stop before I go off the end
of this mountain, In Jesus name, AMEN."
The donkey came to an abrupt stop just one step from the edge of the cliff.
"HALLELUJAH!" shouted the man.
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