This should be interesting.

I have sponge medullary kidney syndrome, a congenital condition where your kidneys don't flush out acids as well as normal ones do, and you develop kidney stones as a result. Lots of them.

I've found various black-humoresque ways to explain it to myself, why this is a part of me, including but not limited to my lineage as the daughter of stonecutters (my last name means stonecutter in the old country); some yuk-yuks about how I'm an intense person and therefore end up so heavy on the inside I make rocks; but all in all it is a really unlucky affair and puts me through a lot of physical pain.

Most people who have never experienced serious physical pain don't have an appreciation for the way it can change the way you experience life. And I'm not talking about the "oh, I appreciate the good times so much more," stuff--although that shouldn't be neglected.

I'm talking about the simple fact that hurting a lot, really bad, has the capacity to kill off little bits of your humanity. Every time this happens I feel more iron introduced into my blood. I feel older and more damaged.

And at age 25, I resent that I should have to deal with this so young.

I also fully acknowledge that others have it far worse than I, that there are little kids out there with awful things, that people are dying as I bitch and moan here.

Regardless. This hurts.

I wrote the blog about the "kriya" notion last night, not knowing that this current condition would grind me to a halt in my tracks today. I guess maybe that means it has some merit.

As long as I am able, I may blog about this thing tonight until it stops. I may have to go to the hospital. I don't know how long I should wait to go in. I've taken three vicodin in about five hours. The pain is getting worse. I don't want to go to the hospital. I can't tell you how awful that would be. I really don't want to go back.

I'm going to keep hoping things improve.

Right now I have to throw up.