Kidney and the Kingdom

Why Do They Do This to Sick People?

It’s not bad enough that a person with feet this size is so unwell they can’t tie laces?

Daddy's Alright

Just one week out, the difference between my father before and after the surgery is more pronounced than I ever could have imagined. There’s a vigor in his voice and movements that I haven’t seen in years, and when I sit down to rest, he needs no such respite. Instead he’ll pace the room or stand at attention, clutching his IV unit like a Roman with a javelin: “I prefer this.”

I don’t know if it’s the initial excitement about the bulk of this whole thing being over that’s making him so giddy, or if the operation was just really, really successful, but I’m not sure I care.

Kill me for the cliché, but I’m so happy he’s happy.

Gonna Be an Awesome Scar!

So, that’s that. I’m in more pain than I’ve ever felt - kinda easy since my entire history of real physical trauma consists of fracturing my foot playing tennis in sixth-grade - but in an uncharacteristically tough-guy move, I swore off narcotics two days after surgery because I didn’t like the way they made me feel. Now it hurts to eat, sleep (yes, it’s possible) and scratch my back. And I’ve had to turn off both Sixteen Candles and Police Academy because they were making me laugh, which is agonizing.

I can’t believe people go through this shit in order to have slightly smaller noses.

Ambien Rambling

Still fuming with the stink of an iodine shower, an IV drip in my right hand making it difficult to type, I’m buzzing from a sleeping pill and thinking about what’s right to write on the eve of a whole new life.

How about this:

I am not scared, because every last little thing was worth it.

Inauspicious Beginnings?

A very scientific purple arrow from the surgeon to remind him to take the left kidney

Great news! Turns out my dad’s just got a case of “sadneys.” The doctors are gonna tickle his belly and then we can all go home.

All the Sad Old Mitigated Men

Besides being shaky-footed, the man in the room adjacent mine is a wild, cantankerous bastard. I’ve not seen more of him than a glimpse of his elevated feet, but I hear his rage almost hourly in the form of fiery, seemingly arbitrary harangues against the staff. Most recently, he called a nurse an “animal” before literally telling her to fuck off. As she swung open the door to do just that, he shouted after her in his sandblown, phlegmy hack: “If you’re bad to me, I’ll give you a slap.”

I told my father about these tantrums and he paused before saying, “It’s important to remember that some people in here are very sick and very scared.”

When he’s not yelling, the man sits in complete silence, a younger man clutching his leg.

I Am a Patient, Boy