Bill King: I feel like I'm stuck inside a soap opera - Sand Mountain Reporter

I don’t watch soap operas. I’ve always found them too unbelievable. All that stuff could not possibly happen to one person, or could it? As I review my own life over the past two months, I fear that not only are soap operas real, but that I may be stuck inside one. If so, I’m not sure what we might call mine. I love “As the Stomach Turns,” but that one has already been used. How about: “As the Creek Rises,” “As the Kidney-Stone Stops,” or “The Old and the Stressed Out?”

My journey began about two months ago, when my urologist confirmed that I had prostate cancer. After examining my options, I chose to have a prostatectomy to remove the cancer. During that same time, my oldest nephew was battling kidney failure, caused by diabetes. Labor-Day weekend, at the age of fifty-three, we lost him. The week after we buried Paul, Tropical Storm Irma blew in. Due to a severe weather threat, I cancelled a scheduled Billy Bob program in Tuscaloosa and stayed home. That afternoon, Irma blew through and planted a 105 foot poplar tree inside our house. She destroyed our garage and fireplace chimney, plus caused water damage inside the main part of our house.

A couple of days later, on her way home, one of Jean’s tires separated and blew out. While this added to the aggravation of the days and could have been dangerous, we realized it paled in comparison.

On Sunday, before my scheduled surgery on Wednesday, another storm blew in. This one was Hurricane Stone. Although kidney stones are not typically fatal, those in the midst of an attack may wish they were. If you’ve never suffered a kidney stone attack, you should praise God and drink lots of water. They feel like you’ve swallowed a live beaver and he’s inside your mid-section gnawing his way out. If you visit the home of a kidney stone victim, you will most likely find the sufferer’s teeth marks on their bedposts!

After a visit to the emergency room, I returned home. For the next three days I wallowed and swallowed. I wallowed in the floor in agony and swallowed pain pills like they were M&Ms. I prayed to pass the stone, pass out, or pass on. During that time, another storm blew in by the name of Nate. He dumped mud in our pool, which had sprung a leak, and caused our creek to rise. I let Ginger (sixty-five) and Cocoa (fifteen) out to do their business. When Fifteen didn’t return, and I saw Ginger staring in the creek, I feared she had fallen in and been swept away. I’m not proud of this, but I went in the house and went back to bed. I think it was the combination of feeling so poorly and medication, but when Jean asked where Cocoa was, I replied, “I think she drowned in the creek!” I don’t have pictures of Jean in her nightgown and house-shoes, wading in the creek as she searched for Cocoa, but I sure wish I did. It turned out that Cocoa wasn’t dead at all. Jean found her next door, snuggling with our neighbor’s two big white ducks.

Surgery day finally came. I donated one kidney stone that must have been the size of a C-130 aircraft, one prostate, and a few lymph nodes. I’m home now, the house is almost

finished, and I’m watching General Hospital – not! James said, “Count it all joy when you fall into many kinds of trials.” I’ve fallen but thankful Cocoa had not. I’m filled with joy, as well as thanksgiving. I’m counting, I’m counting.

Bill King is a native of Rainsville, where he and his wife graduated from Plainview High School. King is a director of missions in Opelika, a writer, musician and author. Visit brobillybob.com for more information.

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