The title of this post is a direct quote from the ER physician who breezed into my cube off the main hall. A couple hours before, I was doubled up in excruciating pain. I was determined to "man up" and ride out the condition but then I finally was so miserable I caved to my wife's insistence that we were heading for the emergency room.
The saddest thing about this was it was barely a month ago, during our honeymoon, when I was first in emergency patient status after breaking my wedding ring finger (See "One Hand Under Wraps" below...) while hiking in Hawaii. Now, here I was again — hooked up to a saline drip and being given some morphine derivative that was working as advertised.
Next up: Cheerful Dr. Oldham, and his top diagnosis, sight unseen, that I was delivering a bouncing baby kidney stone. A quick trip down the hall and through the CT scanning machine proved him right. Tiny as it is (4 mm), that sucker is taking no prisoners on its way down the ureter, so I get to spend a few days guzzling Gatorade, doing the peepee dance, and waiting for it to move along.
After 5 years of nothing more than a cold since we started dating, my wife is getting suspicious that I've been hiding a series of pre-existing conditions and now putting undue strain on the "in sickness and in health" clause in our wedding vows.
Well, maybe I am...