How I’m Doing 2/22/8

You know how I know that I’m getting old?  Because I can’t go for a walk without tripping into some sort of medical problems lately.

A few weeks ago, I had gigantic blisters appearing on my feet.  Then I hurt my back… WHILE I WAS SLEEPING… somehow.  Then I got sick last week.  Now?  I’m pissing blood, which means my kidney stones are back.  YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Right.  So in the meantime, I have been unable to go to the gym for more than, say 4 days total, in the last month.  And I’ve put some weight back on.  FUCK.  I’m big.  Not disgustingly big, but big.  And you know what?  I don’t really feel like changing right now.  I’m not depressed.  At least not noticeably.   It’s hard to tell.   I’m usually passively depressed, and since it’s a regular state for me, it’s difficult to gauge.   I’ve been really scared I’m going to die ever since the beginning of the year.   Which does suggest depression.  But truthfully, any day that I don’t want to put a gun in my mouth is a pretty good day by me.  Which I think is a really excellent perspective… or a really bad one… depending on the way you look at things.

So I went to the hospital today to see my Urologist, because… you know, when blood comes out of your dick, it makes you want to do that.  The blood didn’t really worry me, as I’ve gone through it before.   What did worry me was that the last time I went there I was given 3 possibilities (not options).  If it was small enough, they would zap the stone with a laser, thereby breaking the stones up enough to pass safely (re: sssslllllliiiiiigghhhhhttlllly less painful).   If the stone is too big,  the laser won’t do anything.  In that case, they might put in a stent.  A stent is a rubber tube that runs to your kidney and drains your piss.  It requires surgery… and that I not only have a tube sticking out of me, but that I carry around a bag of piss all day and night.   Ummm…  no.  Not if I can avoid it.  (Although at that time, I’d had the stone for a month and wanted to swallow fireworks to make the pain stop.)   The last option required him to shove a rubber tube up my urethra.    I was very much against that because HE WANTED TO SHOVE A TUBE UP MY COCK.

say it with me

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Fortunately I ended up passing it.  Although he did scare the piss out of me by  telling me that I had an unusually enlarged prostate.   Then he gave me that look that says “You might have cancer.  Or you might not.  Or you might have some shit no one has ever heard of.  Or not.”  Then he walked out and never mentioned it again; simultaneously forcing me to shit my pants and leaving me forever with the secret fear that one day my prostate is going to grow as big as a a skyscraper and attack Tokyo. (I’ll spare you the fake Japanese dialogue involving Rhodan and my asshole.)

So, you know, this time wasn’t as bad, but I was still praying he wouldn’t rape my cock with his big rubber straw.  (No means no!) This time Herr Doktor skipped the chapters on kidney stone Genesis and went straight for the Book of Revelations about Adam’s Genitalia.   “Okay, let’s get you in a stent.  Oh look, I have the very one I’m going to shove inside you sitting here in my desk drawer next to packets of strawberry jam and duck sauce!  Would you like a demonstration?”   I’m paraphrasing there.   I put the brakes on him there.  I need a little foreplay before you cut me open, you know?  It’s only been four days, so I would at least like to try squeezing it out before I do the death dance with Doctor Cut M. Up.    He assured me that I would be unconscious and that I wouldn’t feel a thing. As if that’s supposed to make me feel better.   Here are two things I’ve learned about anesthesiology.

~A very large number of deaths are attributed to the anesthesiologist giving the patient too much.  They never fucking wake up!

~Some patients are given too little and end up waking during the surgery.   Great.

So basically, the doctor has very little margin for error.  And frankly, I grew up in this state.  I know what the educational system that produced these fuckers was like. What if I get the one asshole who went to public school?   Or maybe this guy:   “Hey!  You’re my first! I’m so nervous! Hope I don’t accidentally kill you.  Shit.  I need a joint.” Or something.

Hell with that!

So I’m trying to get this damn thing out of me.   I’ve been drinking 100% Cranberry Juice (you’d be surprised how much of Ocean Spray is actually just sugar.).  Interesting note:  did you know that warm cranberry juice tastes exactly like someone vomiting in your mouth!  I didn’t!  But I do now.   I have to keep forcing the shit down my throat.  Which his hard, but then I remember the good doctor coming at me with that god damn tube.    You know what?  I think I’m going to drink some right now.  Mmmmmmm!  Vomit-y goodness!  (All that’s missing is the corn nibblets.)

So let’s get off my dick.  (…   …  nevermind)   I’ve been trying to fix my budget lately.  I’ve been spending too much money, and I want to start saving.  Australia is the goal, however likely that may be.   It’s been difficult trying to figure out ways to save money that won’t make my life more miserable than it already is, but I’m getting older and sacrifices need to be made.

I’m planning a camping trip with Chris.  We’re going to meet at Little River Canyon which is part of the Appalachians.   I’m not big on the camping, but it will be nice to get out of town.  Plus there’s cool shit to do, like canoeing and kayaking.   I’m hoping to do that next weekend.

The writing is going well.  That is to say, I’m actually getting shit done.

Lastly, I bought some basketball tickets.  So I’m looking for some lovely ladies to go see the Hornets with me.   Any takers?

~Adam

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