Trust me: I tried EVERY home method there is and that I could find on the internet. Hard to do any real serious surfing from the laptop when you're curled up in the fetal position moaning like a dog that just got its jewels whacked.
I drank the Coke. I ate asparagus--grilled, raw, steamed and fried. I drank apple cider vinegar. I drank grape juice. I drank so much water that I lost ALL sympathy for the ragheads who are getting water-boarded. (Give those SOBs a kidney stone and THEY'LL TALK, guaranteed).
I even tried hopping on my left foot to try and jar the little nazi loose. I walked. I paced. I got on the Nordic Track in between fetal position bouts.
I swore. I cried. I even tried to wet myself, but nothing came out.
After the day, night and day in the Emergency room/regular hospital room, the meds they gave me constipated me. . . so now on top of having a friggin' rock traveling back and forth from the kidney to the bladder, my lower GI was more messed up than the national credit rating.
More grape juice. Fiber by the bushel. Laxatives that should've had me reading every back issue of Handloading, AOPA Pilot, Sport Pilot, Rifle and Trade-A-Plane that I have in the bathroom.
Nothing. Finally, that broke loose and holy cow. . . buy stock in Charmin. That's Recluse's stock tip of the week.
The little nazi is still in there, somewhere. Next Wednesday, we go to war. If it means going under and having the urologist strap on the camera, scope and salad tongs on a cable, then so be it.
I just want that sucker out so I can get my medical back.
I think heat, national uncertainty and general gloominess is contributing to people's less than pleasant moods here as of late.
Of course, the things you'll write when in pain never help, either.
Maybe we could give kidney stones to every single elected official, at the same time and ALL get a little relief?