Saturday, June 30, 2012

No important decisions!

“They're baaaack”

    At the hospital this morning, I signed a document promising not to make any important decisions for 24 hours. Oh, and I promised not to drive. I don’t believe it said anything about operating heavy equipment so I may borrow the neighbor’s backhoe and go tear the daylights out of something.

    What have we come to? My Dad never had to sign anything before surgery promising not to sell the family’s car and buy a golf cart. Back then we were nice and didn't need to be reminded of stuff.

    Of course, while Dad did nothing stupid after surgery, he did do some questionable things while perfectly lucid. Like the time he cut himself a big piece of chocolate pie and then plopped himself down in our quick trigger recliner.

The carnage was not to be believed. However, the thought of suing Cheap Eddie’s Furniture and Cat Grooming never crossed Dad’s mind. A good man, my dad.

Excuse me a second, I have look at the clock. Ah. I’ve got 12 hours and 28 minutes left before I can talk about important stuff. This is torture to a columnist like me. Like I. You know, people on TV aren’t saying “me” anymore. They use “I” even when they’re not supposed to. “Something scary is going to happen to Dennis and I.” That’s not correct.

Yet, people are starting to talk that way. Not so much about Dennis and me, but about other people and me. Or “other people and them.” How much more time?

I guess I should tell you what happened. Ya wanna know what happened? Well, the lithotripsy sound wave thing I had done last week didn’t break my kidney stones up as well as hoped. And, let me tell you I was hoping. And, praying. A big boost to your prayer life, kidney stones.

So, this morning the doc goes in and grabs a stone that had gotten wedged. Don’t ask, ‘cause I wouldn’t even let him tell me how he did it. The little gesturing with his fingers looked like something that maniac in the Elm Street movies does.

Anyway, I’m so much better now, and getting better still. That’s a movie or song… something that just flitted across my brain. For once it was the artistic part of my brain. I’ve made way too many stops in the stupid part of what-you-call-your cranial region.

How much time? – Okay, while we’re waiting, let me take time to thank all of you who phoned and e-mailed. I now name you among my brothers and sisters. And, brothers and sisters you be who fought with me on Kidney Stone Day. Shakespeare?

I did get some helpful hints for passing and preventing kidney stones from many of you. A lot of the remedies involved lemons. An interesting fruit, the lemon. And, the lemon flower is sweet.

One idea involved glycerin, lemons and water. Kay couldn’t locate all the glycerin I needed, so she used what little she had on hand for making bubbles. Don’t make me explain.

Anyway, I don’t think the recipe called for the bubble-making glycerin. I believe I was supposed to use the bomb making kind. Blow the daylights out of those devil stones.

One kind lady (lives in Nevada! Nevada!) recommended I get a case of “Real Water” from Cosco’s. Says it’s helped her husband immensely with his uric acid kidney stones. Kay tells I/me that my stones are the calcium kind. She actually remembers stuff the doctor says. I can’t believe it. I’m tempted to get the water anyway, because the Nevada lady was so nice. Thanks, Wendy.

Let’s see how much time I’ve got left.  Hokey smokes! I’ve still got 12 hours and 14 minutes. I thought I was at least at the two-hour mark. Boy, I wish I hadn’t signed that contract. I could be talking some serious stuff here.

As is, let’s talk about Donald Trump. How rich does a guy have to be before he does something about his grotesque comb-over? He’s either surrounded completely by Yes men who keep telling him he looks great, or he signed a contract that he wouldn’t make any big changes with his hair until he was over the influence of meds.

 I don’t think a contract about doing important stuff is legal. It can’t be. – How much time do I have? – Sheesh!


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