I got a lot of great feedback after my hubby guest posted a few weeks ago so I’m making him a regular feature. And if you are wondering, yes he really is this hilarious in real life.
There are few things better in this world to me than a pre-run pee.
Let me explain.
Most of you reading this blog take peeing for granted. You do it when you wake up (hopefully you make it to the toilet first). You do it before you go to bed. You do it several more times during the day. If you run, you do so before you go out, because there’s nothing more embarrassing than looking for a place beside the road to hide and do #1. Well, unless you need to do #2. Then it’s downright humiliating.
But I digress.
Since I’ve already opened this can of worms, let’s be frank: peeing, while biologically necessary, is annoying. You have to cease what you’re doing, excuse yourself, walk to a special peeing room, and do it. Life would be so much better if urination wasn’t a part of it.
I’m so thankful, however, that I can pee. Sixteen years ago, I nearly lost the ability. Sixteen years ago, I nearly lost the ability to live. My kidneys were failing. I’d always known it would happen, because way back in December of 1978 when I was a (pardon the pun) wee lad, my kidneys shut down for two weeks. I should have died. The doctors at the University of Virginia were able to get them going again, and they informed my parents that I would need a transplant by the age of 20. They were slightly off in their prediction. I was 19.
|Morphine is good.|
On May 8, 1997, my father and I went under the knife as he donated one of his kidneys to me. The most important part of a kidney transplant is making sure the transplanted kidney can produce pee after it’s hooked up. They actually wait for it to start spraying pee. Mine did. They nestled it into position just above the left side of my pelvis (yes, I have three kidneys), stitched me up, and pumped me full of morphine. I don’t remember much else about that week, except that catheters hurt when pulled out, male nurses who come into your room offering you a sandwich at 2:00 AM are creepy, and that Simply Healthy Mama is awesome as she stayed with me and protected me from that nurse.
Now, every time I head to the bathroom to transfer whatever I drank in the previous few hours to the latrine, I’m grateful. Because of the gracious gift of my father, I now have a third lease on life.
It’s been sixteen years since the transplant. I’m now 35 years old. My kidney is now 63 years old and shows no signs of slowing down. Neither do I. Because I can’t run much slower. But hey, I’m running. But only after I pee. I’m certain the neighbors wouldn’t appreciate seeing a fat boy peeing in their bushes at 6:30 AM.
|Just after inspecting the
porta potties at the Flying
Pirate Half Marathon.