A Stone's Throw

So, it turns out, A is passing a kidney stone.

Apparently it's been working its magic on him for some time now. He's come home from work - something he never does - he's been holding his side, groaning and moaning, and he's been sitting and sitting and sitting to the point where I'd come to regard him as more of a piece of furniture than as a companion.

Finally on Sunday he'd had enough and went to the hospital to get poked and prodded. And eight or nine or twelve hours later, he finally had an answer. He had a kidney stone, and it has about three inches to go, and it should be finished within ten days.

Now, neither of us is thrilled that he had a stone, but we are both very relieved to know what it was that was making him feel so terrible for the past month.

Better to know the name of the de'il that plagues you!

And to receive the wonderful modern meds that take the pain away and - no pun intended - help the trouble pass more easily. Among them is Morphine, that ought give you an idea of just how much pain he was in.

To my astonishment, once the morphine had kicked in and he was out of pain, lo and behold, he was laughing and chatty and moving around. And I suddenly realized that this poor guy had been really hurting for a long time. And that I'd grown a little inured to his suffering. That I'd been, at least inwardly, rolling my eyes at him.

Oops. That's not very nice...

In my defense, it is a learned behaviour to be unsympathetic with ailing people. I refer to my Grandma, around whom you were allowed three days to be sick, after which you went to the hospital or back to work. Either way, you got out from under her feet.

So now I've seen her reflection when I look in the mirror, I'll try to be more understanding and compassionate should A experience some other hurt.

But it's good to have him back to himself.