I like my urologist very much. When I first came in, he embraced my problem and immediately set himself to develop a rapport with me. Perhaps he was just excited to have a patient that wasn't on Social Security, or maybe we had that connection that all Italian-Americans seem to have, and it's also possible that he is just an enthusiastic, empathetic doctor. He rooted for me to overcome my discomfort and distracting pain to do well on upcoming midterms. When I told him I got a 100 on my last midterm (a day before my zap-the-stone procedure), he gave me a high-five. Regarding my first meeting with the people on my ski trip, he asked, "were there any hotties?"

I like my urologist very much, and that relationship he set makes it hard for me to hate him, even though I want to despise him so much right now. I underwent more X-rays today for a post-operation checkup. We were seeing if any particles from my stone were left unpassed, even though I felt in peak physical form and had been free of any stone-related activity since Saturday. And then I saw the X-ray. I saw the before shot, that gargantuan rock that caused me to limp keeled over into my friend's car as he drove me to the emergency room. Then I saw the after shot, and my nemisis was staring down at me, albiet with half his face blown off. To make things clear: when my doctor broke the stone, he only got half of it. I still have a fairly big stone to pass, another unwanted pregnancy. To add to this unwanted news came what I feared I would hear: my doctor strongly discourages me from going on my ski trip to Canada. The risk of passing the stone during my trip is uncertain, he says, but the pain would be excrutiating, and I would be in a much tougher situation for recuperation. I had entered his office upbeat. I left dejected and furious.