Stoned, again

When the Lord God Almighty created Adam, he made one single, dreadful mistake. He gave Adam sphincters.

Now I know most of you people smirk whenever you hear or see that word. “Sphincter” has become synonymous with the butthole, that much beloved terminus of the human digestive experience. In point of fact, the human body is packed full of sphincters. They are little rings of muscle tissue that act to open and close access to various tubes and pathways throughout our bodies, what the medical profession refers to as our “innards”.

According to the idiots at Wikipedia, there are OVER 9000 of the damn things opening and snapping shut inside of you right now. Sadly, some of those sphincters are stationed along the path from your kidneys to your bladder. When, in the course of human events, a collection of dilithium crystals and half consumed tootsie rolls accumulates in your kidneys and forms what we laughably refer to as a “stone”, the sphincters are ill equipped to deal with them (think in terms of trying to poop a watermelon). The stone continually bumps up against the sphincter seeking its sweet freedom, and this leads to a by-product scientists refer to as “pain”. Pain really is just inadequate word for the sensation. It should be some as-of-yet undiscovered word such as Marmahyperduqueallionesqueamundo. It is a pain so intense that one of the symptoms of kidney stones is nausea. Yes indeed, it hurts so bad you start to dry heave. Another symptom is calling out to various deities and asking them various questions of a sometimes scatological nature.

So having a stone trying to push its way out is painful enough, but not all stones are created equally. No sir. There are tiny stones and there are stones so large that it is simultaneously laughable and horrifying to see them. There are smooth stones and there are stones that are a collection of razor sharp edges that will slice open any tissue they happen to bump up against. And then….. there are these monsters:

Behold the monster called the Staghorn stone. Imagine trying to piss one of those bastards out. They don’t come out, not on their own. Someone goes in and takes them out.

Anyway, I am writing about this spooky shit because I was in the local ER the other night, again, with Senor Kidney Stone of the razor sharp variety. You should have seen what was coming out of me, but honestly, you don’t want to. Let’s just say that you can use “coca cola” as an adjective to describe urine, and be perfectly accurate. They shot me up with “the good shit” and gave me a mess of pills to eat, then sent me home to drink, drink, drink and piss that stone into the recesses of whatever porcelain convenience I happen to be near. So pass me another bottle of water, I’ll be here for awhile just drinking and peeing.

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