I was already dreading this week.
Only a little under a month ago, my wife batted her big, beautiful brown eyes at me and gingerly informed me that her parents had offered to fly her over to join them in London this week for a few days for a little break. Peg's been a solid, stay-at-home mom ever since our second child, Oliver, was born a little over four years ago. She also hadn't traveled abroad since either of our kids were born (I, meanwhile, have -- I flew to London myself for a few days in 2005 to see Killing Joke play two nights at the Shepherd's Bush Empire). What was I going to do? Say 'no'? Clearly, that wasn't in the cards. But the timing was far from perfect.
It's basically always "crunch time" at the office where I'm working these days, and even as selflessly accommodating as my colleagues there have been to me, I'd really, really prefer not to test their patience. Being that I was going to be the sole parent in the household, it was going to fall to me to rouse my kids, feed them, dress them, make and pack their lunches, scurry them out the door and deposit them at their respective schools in a timely fashion and then proceed on to my office (where I'm usually expected around 8:15 am). As I've heard it described in detail by my wife, the morning routine with my kids is difficult undertaking on a good day. Mercifully, a sitter can pick them up at the end of each school day and get them home and feed them, but I'm still in charge of the mornings. I told my boss about the slight tweak in the schedule - suffice it to say, I might be a little bit later than usual, given the unpredictable demands of my new reality - and she was benevolently understanding about it.
It was not attractive plan, but I was resigned to it -- it was only going to be for three weekdays. I should be able to handle it, I thought to myself.
And then ... it happened.
Over the course of this past Halloween weekend, I started noticing a dull but tenacious pain in my lower back (or lumbar region, if you will). As a man in his almost-mid-40s, it's not at all uncommon to feel a few aches and pains (we're not all as spry as we used to be), but this sensation was particularly frightening because it was familiar. Those of you who regularly read Flaming Pablum may remember a series of posts from about a year and half ago wherein I explained the painful experience of suffering several weeks under the merciless reign of a kidney stone (a fate I would not wish even on the likes of Bin Laden). In all candor, the excruciating pain involved with certain stages of those proceedings is something I doubt I'll ever forget. The terrifying thing for me, is that it all started Memorial Day Weekend of 2009 ... with a dull but tenacious pain in my lower back.
At first, I didn't know how to tell Peggy. Would she buy it? Would she think I was just coming up with a pathetic bluff to get her to stay home? I couldn't do that. But still, as the hours passed and the ache lingered on, I started to get really scared. I finally cracked and shared my concerns, but told her I'd be okay. Having lived through it before, at least I knew what to expect this time, and I could also reach out to any number of folks at this end to help out if things got dire. I bit the bullet and told her to go ahead with her travel plans.... and, of course, she took me up on it.
Meanwhile, I made an appointment for this afternoon with my wiseacre of a doctor. I finally got in to see him and told him my tale of woe. According to the documentation from my blood tests, my cat scan and the report from my Icelandic urologist, they hadn't noticed any other stones or signs that anything more serious was afoot. It seemed crazy to me that I should be grappling with this friggin' problem again only a year and a half later. Then, I remembered something I read in my trusty, battered copy of "Home Remedies for Men,"...
In a particularly cruel twist, men who get one stone stand a good chance of forming another within five years.
Fuckin' great!
My doctor basically told me to wait it out. Maybe it wasn't another stone? Maybe it was just some gravel (for lack of a better term) that I could simply pass via robust fluid consumption. That said, my doctor thoughtfully scribbled me up a prescription for some pain meds in the event that it isn't just gravel. And now with my friendly neighborhood St. Vincent's Hospital gone, the process I'll have to entertain should it be something more serious promises to be that much more of a bitch. Thanks a bunch!
So, anyway, Peg left this evening for jolly old London and shan't be back until Sunday afternoon. I bathed the kids, read to them and put them to bed and am now waiting for some Indian food to arrive. I'd also treated myself to some Lone Star beer from out local Gristede's, but when I cracked one open, I found that it had gone off rather skunkily. I'm trying not to read into that as a bad omen. The dull lumbar ache has now been with me for at least two days. Last time, it lasted only about a day, and then came the "attack" wherein the stone basically began it's agonizing journey. Maybe that won't happen this time? I just hope that if it does, I'm in a convenient place and my kids are safe and that it doesn't scare the daylights out of them.
Watch this space and think happy thoughts.
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