Age Is Hilarious… Until You’re the Punchline

A kidney stone, 100-degree heat, and one devastating comment from my daughter later

By Dallas "Dealing with a Kidney Stone" Reese

Every single morning I wake up feeling like I’m ready for the world. The problem is, the world is rarely ready for me. I open my eyes and announce, “World, you’re mine today. I’m about to dominate.” Then I stand up.

And my body says, “Whatchu talkin’ ’bout, Willis?”(yes I'm old enough to pop culture reference Different Strokes from 1970s TV)

Yesterday’s mystery guest? A kidney stone.

Those of you who’ve had one just winced. Those of you who haven’t, imagine trying to pass a jagged little meteor through the world’s worst tollbooth while somebody repeatedly kicks you in the back with a steel-toed boot. And that's exactly what it feels like.

Apparently my kidneys have decided that, in addition to filtering blood, their side hustle is masonry and putting bricks in my urethra. I’ve been down this road a couple of times already, which I guess isn’t too bad considering I’m 102 years old.

At this point, my kidneys and I are in a long-term toxic relationship. I have repeatedly asked them to stop listening to Britney Spears’ “Toxic,” but they refuse.

Every time I walk into the house, my kidneys tell Alexa to play Britney, and five minutes later I’m somehow singing Miley Cyrus:

The Britney song was on…The Britney song was on…

So I put my hands up…

THEY’RE PLAYIN’ MY KIDNEY SONG…

And now it’s a Party in the U.S.A.—except the party is apparently taking place somewhere between my kidney and bladder, admission is free, and somebody brought a rock.

At this point, y’all probably think I’m weird. And my kids tell me that every day, because my mind works in strange ways. It always has. As my high school friend and college roommate Scottie Gardner says, "We love you because you are uniquely you, Dallas" lol!

That would be an accurate diagnosis.

So this morning, as I'm sitting here at my laptop and should be working on radio shows and other things I need to get done, instead I finally sat my kidneys down for a serious conversation.

As plain as day, I tried to reason with them,

“Kidneys, I identify as a man with no kidney problems.”

My kidneys responded:

“Biologically, you have kidney problems at least for right now. You are a liar. Accept who and what you are and stop trying to change what God has given you.”

Well, okay then, kidneys. Apparently my internal organs have become theologians.

I blame three things: this South Carolina heat, genetics, and a bad diet.

And I know what you’re thinking:

“Dallas, are you telling us the fat guy doesn’t always eat right?”

I know. Shocking. Please respect my privacy during this difficult revelation. My wife tells me this about every other day. I know I should listen. I gotta cut back on oxalates.

But this weather has been so hot I think it’s turning my insides into a rock factory. Apparently dehydration looked at my kidneys and said, “You know what this place needs? Gravel.”

So now I’m sitting here watching the YouTube Machine (thanks, Todd Friel, for that description) titled things like “How to Pass a Kidney Stone FAST,” because apparently this is what entertainment becomes when you get old.

This is a long way from watching Billy Joel videos on MTV in the 80s.

Now I'm staring at some calm, confident urologist on the YouTube machine who is explaining rock expulsion techniques while I sit here taking notes like there’s going to be a final exam.

And then Katie overhears the video from across the way.

“Dad… you’re getting old.”

Thank you, sweetpea. lol.

Nothing lifts a man’s spirits while he’s trying to pass a geological formation quite like one of his children standing nearby announcing the arrival of Father Time.

So apparently dehydration and Father Time have formed a tag team. Father Time distracts the referee while Dehydration hits me over the head with a folding chair.

Meanwhile, I’m drinking water like somebody just announced we've got a shortage of it and I need to clear the supply like it's a snowstorm in the south when everybody grabs all the water. Specifically, I'm drinking water, lemon juice, apple cider vinegar—I’ve got enough beverages lined up here to make my kitchen look like a kidney-stone cocktail bar.

“Welcome to Chez Dallas. Tonight’s special is the Ureter Unclogger. Would monsieur care for lemon?”

But here’s the thing. I still woke up this morning planning to conquer the day.

It may just take me a little longer than originally scheduled. Because one of the great lessons of getting older is that your mind still wakes up thinking you’re 27 while your body wakes up, checks the warranty, and says: “Hey Big D, several of these parts have been discontinued.”

So remember, kids:

Getting old ain’t for sissies.

You keep laughing, keep moving, keep working, keep thanking God for another morning, and when life hands you lemons, you should squeeze them into 64 ounces of water and hope they help evict the tiny limestone squatter currently living rent-free in your urinary tract.

I’m still planning to conquer the world today.

Just as soon as this little geological souvenir decides to LEAVE THE PREMISES.

Y’all have a great day.

Here's to no rocks in your urinary tract.

And hydrate.

Seriously.

HYDRATE.

Dallas