Urological. -No, I'm quite logical, thank you, I just have kidney issues.

The urologist I was sent to in Panama City, Panama did a CT scan and found two stones in my left kidney. I don't know if the ultrasound in GT was wrong, or if maybe I passed some stones without knowing it. He said my kidney was getting pretty roughed up, and wouldn't delay the surgery (a catheter search and rescue, and then maybe a cut into the kidney if necessary) for mom to be there in time.

Walking into the hospital that day, little by little, I gave up my freedoms, mobility, independence. It started with the wheelchair escort to my room. I was not allowed to transport myself where I needed to be. The abandonent of my clothes and undergarments for a gown. Nurses putting on the stockings for me, and then tucking me into bed to await the surgery. "Tengo que quedarme?" I asked them ("Do I have to stay (here)?") I was interrupted by another nurse coming to put in an IV. After he left, I returned to my task of hanging washed clothes in the little closet to dry, now toting the IV rack behind me. I lay, vulnerable and out of control over myself, on my hospital bed as they wheeled me to the operating room. They injected sleep stuff into my veins, and then gas. I was guided on when and how to lose consciousness.

Coming to, not being able to remember or control what had just happened to me, I was unable to wake up when I wanted to. I was unable to talk, as I tried to do, at first. I reached my room, and I was unable to move onto my own bed, nurses did it for me. I awoke to tubes coming out of me; all I could do was lay there, as even trying to infiltrate my betraying body had to infiltrate my self, too. I couldn't move, get comfortable, try to function on my own. I was foreign to myself.

I felt so helpless, as I lay there, drifting in and out of sleep, waiting for mom to arrive. At least she was still the same; her love, too. The next morning, as my body lay, still incarcerated, my reign over what happens externally was still obliterated as the nurses came to begin my day. It was bathing-time, and I quickly learned to let go of modesties and accept reliance upon others (strangers, mothers), however coerced. After that voyage into the sponge bath, my new challenge became sitting up, standing up and relocating to the chair. How do you move with tubes all in you? With attached baggage to look out for? I, who used to be unable to blow my nose in front of others, had my liquids seeping out of my body into clear bags that I and others had to carry around.

There are 1,001 little stories like this that came out of my 5 nights in the hospital, but the point was, I had to humble myself and open myself up to manipulation, scrutiny, weakness, facts of life, assistance. I had to hold onto the feeling of differences with my body on the outide, as we attempted to get rid of the differences with my body on the inside. Continually aware of the catheter poking out of my bad, even when the bag was detached. The doctor wanted to be able to put it back in if my kidney didn't seem to be draining correctly. I had a tube in my back. I couldn't lay too harsh on it, I certainly couldn't move onto my side, I couldn't sleep on my stomach, either.

Once the catheter was removed, I noticed an immediate change in comfort and absence of pain, though still aware of the gaping hole in my back. As a kid (and adult, even), I was so fascinated and engrossed by my littlest of wounds, scraped knees, cut fingers, blistered feet - as something different was happening than supposed to. I really enjoyed employing the use of Band-Aids.

These experiences were significant to me because they were infrequent.

I had to wait 26 years to spend some time in a hospital, which is pretty darn lucky, I'd say. Praise God for my mostly healthy body, because I'd rather experience the newness of this kind of vulnerability than the prevalence of continued vulnerabilities, limitations and immodesties of other health issues that many others do.