Skip to main content

It's a Kidney Stone!

Ladies Who are Mothers, you know that feeling when IT IS TIME TO GO  because that being growing inside of you is ready to pass through a way-too-small canal out a way-too-small hole.

Imagine that happening to a man. Except the being that is being passed is this small: .  See it there? That dot. Men get morphine to pass these.

And when they are writhing in agony in the car on the way to the hospital you are expected to break the same number of traffic laws as an entire season of the Dukes of Hazzard. You are NOT, as it turns out, allowed to casually shave and finish your Subway sandwich--like Husband did to ME six years ago.

Although, let me just say something about the feeling of driving someone to the hospital at 2 a.m. on a weeknight. What a THRILL. I have been training my whole life for this. And some people in the family say I drive like a crazy person. I was only practicing for the CRITICAL day when I would need to rush my dear Husband to the hospital so he could pass a fly-speck-sized nugget while on morphine.

He came home with FOUR prescriptions. The THREE times that I passed more than EIGHT POUNDS out of my body, I came home with an adult diaper for bleeding, a creature that sucked my boobs and a bottle of Tylenol PM.

Manneken Pis, Brussels, Belgium


I am happy that Husband is out of pain and more than anything glad to know that he is OK. It is very scary to wake up in the middle of the night and make the decision to take your spouse to the hospital. Even with the opportunity to speed and run red lights.

And as you can see from the photo of Husband above, he is back to normal functioning.

Comments

  1. I am very happy to read your articles it’s very useful for me, 
    and I am completely satisfied with your website. 
    All comments and articles are very useful and very good.
    Your blog is very attention-grabbing. I am loving all of the in.
    turn you are sharing with each one!….

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Happily Ever After

Last weekend, in a brief moment of remote control ownership, I tuned into basic cable and saw a very disturbing show called "Rich Bride, Poor Bride." I watched two episodes and didn't see what I would call a "poor" bride--although actually, after they blew their budgets, both brides probably did end up poor. One couple spent about $75,000. They talked her out of having live peacocks at the reception.

That makes me think about my own much simpler but very nice-for-Farmersville wedding over a decade ago. In many ways it was a disaster.

We were engaged for a year and a half; we had plenty of time to plan but fates conspired against us.

By the time we got to the week of the wedding, we had buried two people on the guest list and paid our respects to a distant uncle. One of the people we lost was my husband's grandfather who died Monday, we had visitation Wednesday, funeral Thursday, rehearsal dinner Friday, wedding Saturday. How his grandmother handled it is beyo…

Weekend Plans Cut Short

I haven't been at my current job long enough yet, apparently, because people still make the mistake of asking me what are you doing this weekend? I say that it is a mistake to ask me about my weekend plans because that question is supposed to be followed with an ordinary answer like going to see a movie or yardwork.
But when you ask me about my weekend plans, you're likely to get an answer like this: well, we'll be pretty busy getting ready for our pig auction. Husband has to give haircuts to 100+ pigs.
Yes, you read that right. Pigs get haircuts. Husband is grooming them for the pig auction (we call it a sale) that we are having on Saturday. In the market for a pig? Head over here.
Pigs have short, coarse hair that in days of old was used to make brushes (and maybe still today). Husband and other pig farmers clip the hair of the pigs shorter to make them look more appealing to potential buyers, who in this case are 4-H kids and parents looking for a hog to take to the count…

Rejected by Nancy Cartwright

Every two years the nationally renowned Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop is held here in Dayton. The event typically sells out in hours, but one way to gain entry is to enter the Erma Bombeck Writing Competition--there is even a category for local writers.


Several of my local friends who are great bloggers and hilarious Facebook commenters have been talking smack about winning this thing since we were all shut out two years ago by booger stories.

Nancy Cartwright, Dayton native and the the voice of Bart Simpson, judged the finalists this year. Apparently, she did not like my entry.

Recently, famous blogger and author Jenny Lawson shared an article she had written that was rejected by Oprah's magazine. So, inspired by her, I will share my article that I'm sure made it all the way to Nancy [it did not] and then was rejected for not being about boogers or port-a-johns.

Check out "All the Dreeds of Pigs" in a future post on this blog.