Over the past forty-two years, I have probably passed ten to twelve kidney stones per year. It has almost become commonplace, just something I do, tolerate. The first one put me in the hospital. The first dozen or so were floor rollers. Then the pain wasn't so bad anymore, and I knew what was happening my body.
But Tuesday was different. I was back on the floor, rolling, moaning, throwing up. The pain went down some after seven hours, and I tried going to work. I hurled what was left of my supper into the class waste basket several times before we got started in World Literature I. Needless to say, the students freaked. One went to the office and told Katie Jones, our counselor, who came to the room and tried to persuade me to go home. Eventually she said, "You can't teach and throw up in front of your students. You can't do that to them." I knew she was right. I went home.
I stayed in pain until sometimes around 11:00 when I finally got comfortable and passed out. Sleep took me to noon when Penny came home and woke me up. I could not eat real food, but I did put down some jello and some beef broth my sweetie fixed for me.
So I missed my morning swim. Prospects weren't looking too good for a run either. I napped a lot throughout the afternoon. Exercise was out of the question. By night time, however, I was feeling like everything was OK. The stone was about belt level the last time I was hurting. Did it move while I slept? Only time would tell, and it did. I'll tell you about that tomorrow, Lord willing.
Thank you, Jesus, that I did not hurt more than I did. How much we take our health for granted. Forgive me Lord.
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