A Friendly Towel and A Tiny Stone

I posted this on mine & Jill's blog, but I don't think any of you read it, so I thought I'd share it here especially since it's good family history:

Its amazing how a slightly damp towel can become your best friend under the right circumstances. It was 4:00AM, I'd been in the shower twice and the second time had used the towel to dry myself. I was dressed again, had pooped, chewed 5 Tums, and cried to Heavenly Father for relief, but nothing seemed to help. Hands, knees, and forehead all on the floor of the bathroom, I pulled the towel down from its rod and dropped my face into it. It felt cool, and soaked up the sweat, and was the only one that cared.

Sometimes, my weaknesses make me laugh. I might think a swear word in my head when I stub my toe or even mutter a "hell" or "damn" if I spill a drink all over the place. But in the wee hours before dawn on the 3rd of June, the only things that came to my mind or from my mouth were petitioning pleas to God for relief.

Actually the towel wasn't the only one that cared. I knew my wife and parents cared (we were home for vacation & Millie's wedding). I just assumed they couldn't do anything. After an hour of the most exquisitely overpowering pain I've ever experienced, I was desperate. The shower didn't seem to relax me anymore to help ease the pain a little, and I was wondering what kind of food poisoning this was that had only subsided for a moment after my bowels had danced about.

Shaking with weakness I pulled myself up to the toilet, tried to smile upon finding the cool porcelain friendly too, just as Cosby said, and hurled all that I'd eaten in the last 24 hours into the whirlpool. The pain almost left, for a full 2 seconds when I heaved again. 3 seconds after that the pain came back in full force. I was desperate now.

Standing to a 45 degree angle from my waist up I hurried to Jill and woke her. After telling her how much pain I was in and her suggesting maybe we should wake my parents, I agreed and suggested my Dad might give me a blessing. Tears came then. Weakened, exhausted, trembling, my whole body convulsed with my sobs. Jill just held me, held me up as much as anything.

I wont guarantee it absolutely, but I'm pretty sure I haven't cried from pain since I turned 11 or 12 and I cut about half of my thumb off with the new Old Timer I'd received as a gift from my Mother (when you're used to dull knives, sharp ones are dangerous).

Dad insisted it was a kidney stone. He said uncle Dave always ended up on hands and knees, like I was, shaking. On that idea I took some Advil and he gave me a blessing. I asked the three of them to leave and sat on the toilet again. I felt a little relief and crawled out to my bed. I found I could finally lay on my side without increased pain. I pulled the two blankets over me and asked for another. I weakly shivered under all three. They made Jill a bed on the couch by my head. The pain consistently decreased over several minutes and I fell asleep before it was gone.

The next morning somebody could have done a celebration dance on my grave and I would have thanked them and danced with them, if I'd had the strength. My Mom told me that that was as close to the pain of giving birth as I'd ever get. I told Jill she shouldn't do natural birth like she wanted (when she gets pregnant again). Too much pain. Mom said mothers who do natural birth have far lower postpartum depression rates as well as almost no problems with attachment to their babies. Jill said she still wants to do it.