A trip to my Urologist: An hour of sex, drugs and kidney stones

My first kidney stone happened in 1995. We were moving from California to Chicago. We stopped in Palm Springs to visit my mother before making the trip. I started having throbbing lower back pains followed by peeing pure blood. And being a guy, I never said anything. And being a neurotic guy, I thought I was dying.

Three months later, I finally visited a doctor who told me what she thought was going on. I wasn’t dying, although it felt like it. It was only a kidney stone—only. She gave me some meds to help with the pain and help me pee more freely. Within a week, the stone passed. When I told her, she said, “You need a Urologist.” And being a guy, I said “Nope, we’re good.”

After that episode, I continued to get stones every two to three years. Yeah, they were painful but they always passed within a few days—until there was one that didn’t.

In 2017, I had another episode. There wasn’t any pain this time, only blood. No biggie, right? But, the damn thing got stuck. So, it was off to my first Urologist. She ran a bunch of tests and after a couple of weeks, she told me it was going to have to come out surgically—and ASAP! I’ll never forget the look on her face when I told her it was going to have to wait because I was going to Los Angeles for the Rose Bowl game. Then she said, “I highly recommend you don’t do that but if you do, I want to see you the day you get back.” She then gave me the number of a Urologist in L.A. just in case. She followed that by leaving the room in a huff.

WOW! She was good! She must have taken lessons in guilt from my mother.

We survived the trip to Los Angeles—no strange Urologist was needed. I came home, had the surgery and went on with my life. Even after all that well-deserved guilt, I kept her as my doctor. She walked me through a few more kidney stones and even did another more complex surgery. But, what I remember most about her is this discussion:

HM: I have a question about a different topic. DrM: Let me guess, it’s about sex? HM: Yeah but isn’t that part of what you do? DrM: Yeah, but lot of times, men ask questions and try to gross me out. HM: Really? You see multiple penises and vaginas every day. You know all the words. How can they gross you out?

She laughed and we moved on. I don’t think I ever asked her the question. I can’t even remember the question. The topic never came up again—pun intended.

When she moved on to a teaching gig a few years ago, she gave me a recommendation for a new doctor. I tried to make an appointment for an introductory visit and could only get it two months out. I found out why she was so popular when I first met her. She’s young, pretty, funny and feisty. She’ll talk to you about any urological topic like your friends would. After the first meeting, we decided on a yearly checkup unless there was an emergency. Cool with me; I don’t need someone sticking scopes up my whatever on a whim. Trust me, if you’ve never had that done, run when it’s suggested and run fast!!

Last January, we had our first yearly meeting. We talked about kidney stones and how to prevent them. Next came nightly trips to the bathroom, and how to lessen them. Then came a long chat about hydration and how important it was. All of it was part of a normal doctor-patient visit. We were about to wrap things up when she had one final question:

“Do you want to talk about sex?”

Usually, when a young, pretty, funny, and feisty woman asks me that, I’m all in—at least I pretend to be. However, I had a feeling we were about to go into a new and uncharted territory.

H: Since you asked, I do have one question. DrS.: Yeah? H: I’m a little nervous because I don’t really know you and I’m not that comfortable yet. DrS: I know all the words and use them every day. In fact, I just called a colleague and asshole an hour ago. So go ahead. H: (jokingly) Fine—I want to fuck my girlfriend (yes it was a joke!!) DrS: That’s the third time I’ve heard that today—and it’s only 10:30 (I think it was also a joke but I’m not sure.)

We laughed and I asked her something I can’t remember a year later.

This afternoon I’ll be having my yearly visit with Dr. S. We’ll definitely be having a conversation about kidney stones since I just passed on a couple of weeks ago. Then there’s the traditional talk about the nightly bathroom visits. And then we get to the finale of “Do you want to talk about sex?” I’m a little nervous typing this and the appointment is still five hours away. But, I think I’ll be fine—just as long as she’s not holding one of those scopes that go up my whatever.

PS: Why is the doctor in the above photo smiling while she’s holding the instrument no man or woman ever wants to see?!