I haven't gotten round to any scribbling for the last few weeks. Why? Well, you see, we are currently in the midst of some unusual tropospheric phenomena here in Dublin. Every morning for the past 10 or so, I have opened my curtains to find blue stuff where the clouds are supposed to be. Day after day, the Sun has beaten down, with the result that every self-respecting man, woman and child has participated in that well-known Irish game 'Pass the baby oil - I bet I can get skin cancer before you!'

Lying in bed tonight, however, I was compelled to start writing. Poker has been plodding along nicely as I am fast becoming a decent cash-game player but it is not poker I'm going to discuss. This morning I woke up with a bad pain in my right flank. I grit my teeth and went back to bed but a few hours later, the pain had moved to my groin and it was more than I could tolerate. I got up and began writhing around in pain in different positions in different rooms of the apartment. Unsurprisingly, neither my posture nor physical location had any bearing on the intensity of my pain. Twenty minutes of swearing and moaning later, the pain started to subside a little. I rang my doctor's office and told them that the big day had finally arrived... I was about to give birth to my very first kidney stone.

"I can fit you in at 4pm", uttered the voice at the other end of the line. "4pm!", I answered, "I'll be dead by 4pm!" I hung up the phone and told Michelle that, being the hard-man that I am, I was going to tough it out at home. Five minutes later, the pain was back with a vengeance and I was squirming around a taxi on the way to St James Hospital.

On arrival, I was taken in immediately by the nurse and administered with a double dose of morphine and a single dose of difene. I immediately became queasy and lost the feeling in my right arm. On the upside, however, the pain became almost tolerable and it seemed that the worst hour of my life was over. As Michelle lovingly petted my forehead, the doctor asked me how I was feeling. With an earnest stare, I told her that I needed more morphine. She obliged and courtesy of my third 2.5mg hit in fifteen minutes, I dozed off in a opium haze.

Blood tests, urine tests, an MRI and an X-Ray later, I was informed that I had successfully passed the 4mm in diameter boulder from my kidney into its new home in my bladder. From there, it will do one of two things:

1 Dissolve harmlessly and be absorbed back into my body (Relatively painless)
2 Travel out of the bladder into the urethra where it will tunnel its way out of my body through my penis (Excruciatingly painful)

Needless to say, I am 'one time' hollering for the former as the latter sounds like giving birth to a pineapple. The doctor let me leave in the late afternoon with a bag of pills and the promise of a follow-up consultation with a urologist. The pain has moved from my groin to my back but it is only a shadow of what it was this morning.

I've decided not to cancel my trip to Amsterdam tomorrow where I hope to experience a more pleasant type of stonage. Michelle and I have been looking forward to this holiday for months and it would be a shame to miss out. A bastion of culture and sub-culture, Amsterdam shall offer a pleasant dichotomy of attractions - the museums and the coffee-houses, the Vondelpark and the red-light district. The Holland Casino will, no doubt, also see some action so I hope to report on some profitable sessions there in the days to come.

 


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