It is a great weight I carry, knowing that each week dozens upon dozens of people anxiously flip to my column, after spending ample time with sports, the weather and the occasional Beetle Bailey, dying to know what “that moron” hated this week.

I have done so diligently week upon week, trudging through the worst that the Keanus and Channings of the world can throw at me. Unfortunately, on occasion, life tends to interrupt even the best laid plans, and this week I was unable to perform my civic duty for you.

You’ll have to wing it if you plan on braving Bruce Willis on the big screen again. Instead, I will give you the breakdown of what was so gosh darned important that I couldn’t spare two measly hours for you. So now, a week with me and my kidneys:

Wednesday: The problems began a couple of weeks earlier with excruciating pain (perhaps not coincidentally after having just watched the new preview for “The Bounty Hunter,” the upcoming Gerard Butler/ Jennifer Aniston “romantic comedy”).

After a brief visit with a doctor and copious amounts of painkillers, I was scheduled for lithotripsy, a procedure in which punk kidneys are put back in their place by shooting them with electricity, or some such thing. I’ve never been much for details.

Having been assured by people much sissier than I that it was no big deal, I stripped down to what is far from comfortable on a freezing cold day and was wheeled into what looked to be a lunch bus. There I was drugged up and put in place and the process was begun.

It feels essentially like being flicked in the exact same spot by a rubber band, only long after your mother would have yelled at your brother for doing it, it continues. Fortunately, the medication, while allowing me to be awake, also allowed me to watch the walls melt for a bit.

Upon completion, I left the bus (sadly minus a sandwich) and was chauffeured back home. I was feeling pretty cocky, with my soon to be clear kidneys crying out in mercy.

“Take that, stupid kidneys!” I thought, and then promptly opened the car door and expelled the entire contents of my stomach on the ground.

So this is what health feels like.

Thursday: After spending the night curled up and vomiting (though not at the same time, because that would have been nasty) I was taken to the emergency room. As the helpful admitting clerk was taking my name, I decided to be uncooperative by answering each question with stomach bile.

Finally frustrated, she sent me to the back, where I was medicated and made woozy and kicked back for a while. Then the doctor came in, told me it was normal with the procedure to have some pain and nausea, and I was again bundled up and sent home.

The next day and a half was spent in various states of pain. Finally, on Saturday it was decided that I should once again try to crack this medical mystery by receiving an actual diagnosis based on my actual symptoms and not just the standard “Suck it up, you baby. You’ll be better in the morning.”

Off again I went to the emergency room, only this time there were three helicopters medflighting in accident victims, meaning that no one was getting a bed at that point. Niceties were said, begging was done, but to no avail. There would be no bed.

Having faced this before, I returned to the old reliable: violently, loudly and uncontrollably forcing the remaining acids in my now three-days empty stomach to vacate the premises. This has a much better motivation than triage patients, apparently, as a bed was quickly found so that the other sick people wouldn’t have to listen to me anymore.

After the situation had calmed, I was finally admitted, after being threatened once again with discharge papers, and I got to curl up in a more peaceful room where nurses administered morphine like candy.

Sunday: A urologist was called. He explained that I have a very unique situation, wherein my kidney stones, after being pulverized, essentially clogged my kidney right back up and weren’t going anywhere.

In his 20 years, he says I’m probably only the fifth or sixth person he’s had that problem with. Oddly, this doesn’t even warrant a T-shirt or a plaque on the wall. He made plans to operate on me, clearing out those troublemaking stones and allowing me to live pain free and clear headed again.

That evening, I was taken into the operating room, and when I awoke, what appeared to be PVC piping has been shoved into what we fellas refer to as a “very sensitive area.” I was catheterized, and I was told it will stay in place u¡ntil they are good and ready to take it out, so I should quit my whining.

Alas, all great adventures have to end, and I was sent on my way home on Monday, told to drink ample water and stay away from anything with flavor or which might bring me joy. But now I’m back on the beat. I’ll be fresh next weekend for Oscar coverage.

With the new format, I’ll also be looking to tweak the column a bit. If there’s anything you’d like to see me cover, please drop me a line.

Until then, I’ve gotta rest up. Only a couple of weeks until “The Bounty Hunter.” If the previews can do this to me, I’m not sure I’ll survive the actual film.



Address correspondence to Benji Tunnell, c/o The Joplin Globe,

P.O. Box 7, Joplin, MO 64802 or benjitunnell@gmail.com.