NOTHING GOES UNTOUCHED

Walking the wire is life. Everything else is waiting around.
—Karl Wallenda

Yesterday, I became a human rip-chord, my legs propped up on hard plastic stirrups, (and no, I wasn’t horseback riding). Just a simple little joy ride; no pressure at all. Except when the nurse, trained in Chinese water torture, filled my bladder with cold water; Except when the doctor performed his standard (but oh so invasive) cystoscopy.

"Was it the right kidney or left?" he asked while probing around inside me.

"Right," I gritted through my teeth, my lower back unforgiving, wanting to spring forward, if only I’d let go of the metal railings.

"Yes," he agreed, then disappeared.

"…"

"The stent’s out," the nurse said.

"I was afraid to ask," I responded.

"You can get dressed now. Remember to schedule your next appointment with the receptionist."

The fluorescent lights came on. The door shut. I got dressed and got the hell out of dodge. The day was still young, why not enjoy it?

Yes, I’m holding my stent—all eighteen inches of it. It’s bought and paid for. Also, I may have jarred loose my left kidney stone. Here it is under my digital microscope. Sorry for being so graphic. Perhaps I should’ve written a limerick instead.



There once was a man with a stent
Which made him walk with a bent;
The nurse dimmed low the light,
Doc pulled with all his might,
So it was done before he could vent.