Fried Kidney

 

I turned seventy five years old about two weeks ago. I don’t think I’m old, but since I turned seventy things around me have got weird. For instance I feel some doctors think they’re wasting time healing a guy who’s going to die soon anyway. So I have to keep reminding them that my grandfather lived almost to one hundred and two, and Mom lived ninety nine years. Also, young people don’t seem to see me. I’m just an impediment between them and the cute, hot people on the other side of the room. So I get out of the way. Worst thing about living past seventy is your body starts breaking bits and pieces before the things that broke the month before can heal. If you read my earlier blog posts, you know of my problems. Now that they yanked one of my kidneys out of me, it turned out that the kidney had a cancerous tumor. Well, son of a bitch. I now have twelve weeks of chemo-therapy ahead. All I ask it that my hair doesn’t all fall out again. I went through that thirty seven years ago, and clumps of hair washing down the shower drain creeped me out.