RON DAVIS -- Through my eyes

Ron Davis

The stomach pain wasn’t particularly severe a week ago Monday night.

It was reminiscent of indigestion. And, given that I had just consumed a

huge Thanksgiving meal at my mother-in-law’s the previous Thursday,

indigestion was certainly not out of the question.

The following Tuesday and Wednesday, I had just the occasional bout

with the same intensity of infrequent pain in the same areas. I’ll bet

you’re wondering if I scheduled an appointment with my doctor. I’ll bet

you’re wondering if I even mentioned the pain to my wife. Let me give you

a hint: I don’t stop and ask for directions, either.

I didn’t tell my wife for a couple of very, very, good reasons. First,

she’d bother the heck out of me until I made an appointment with the

doctor. And, perhaps more importantly, I’d have to explain that I

suspected her mother to be yet another source of my distress.

By late Thursday afternoon, the pain was undeniable and relentless.

What I assumed would go away in a matter of moments had hung on for more

than four straight hours, driving through both sides of my lower back,

then to my sides and then through the abdomen. Pain so excruciating I

finally had to mention it to my wife knowing that I was soon slated for a

short drive to the emergency room.

I don’t know why they have magazines in emergency rooms. They’re

probably there for the guests of the patients and not the patients. My

attitude is that if you’re capable of reading a magazine, you shouldn’t

be in the emergency room. I was at the right place. The pain had me

dancing around the waiting room like Gregory Hines. After an hour, I was

ushered back into the inter-sanctum, where a physician eventually

examined me. Diagnosis? Probable kidney stone!

The doctor explained that the pain of a kidney stone is the equivalent

of a woman delivering a baby. Ladies you have my sympathy. I was begging

for a saddle-block. While I thought I was in the process of delivering

the rock of Gibraltar, I was told that kidney stones are actually quite

small -- about the size of a grain of sand.

With the diagnosis came the morphine. Within a minute my eyelids were

drooping and the pain had dissipated. After some further discussion with

the doctor, who believed the stone may have passed to the bladder, I was

heading home armed with a prescription for painkillers, a little plastic

strainer and, worst of all, an order to make an appointment with a

doctor.

As of this writing, the pebble has not made its way out of the bladder

and into the little plastic strainer.

I hate going to see doctors. I can also tell you that they’re not

crazy about having a lawyer in their office either. Don’t get me wrong, I

appreciate the diagnosis and the pain suppression, but it’s all the other

junk they tell you about. I knew I had to drop a couple of pounds. I also

knew I needed to drink more water, eat lower cholesterol foods and eat a

diet higher in fiber.

And, I was just getting ready to start a more rigorous exercise

program. And, truth be known, I wouldn’t mind the doctor telling me these

things. But, do they always have to tell you in front of your wife?

* RON DAVIS is a private attorney who lives in Huntington Beach. He

can be reached by e-mail at o7 [email protected]