Yesterday was a day I thought would be a completely wasted day for me.  And I really hate to waste a day.  Off to the hospital early to have a kidney stone blasted out.

I was optimistic, but had planned for every eventuality.

Seriously, for an out-patient procedure, you have to submit and sign as many documents as for a heart transplant.  This is not a bad thing.  Checking and double checking everything protects the patient, the doctors, and the hospital.

Our hospital is sort of my village.  I go there for Tai Chi, the food carts, any imaging that I might need during the year, and to visit friends.  In my age group, someone is always there. When I moved here 20 years ago, it consisted of one large, modern building. Now it is a campus consisting of many buildings, cafes, restaurants, and shops. I always smile when I see the sign to Building D, the Family Birthing Center. which reads, “Delivery Drop-Off.”  “Hop out, Honey.  Text me when you want me to pick you up.”  I still prefer the old designation, “Maternity Ward.”  I was in Building A.

I did lay in plenty of dog food and stocked up on bags of salad and frozen favorites and cookies from Trader Joe’s ahead of time.  It’s so nice when it’s not a surprise emergency and you can plan ahead.

Left 1880 at 7:50 under Roxanne’s tender care in her new Mercedes. Arrived at at hospital at 8:00. Was all prepped in pre-op by 8:30.  Barb arrived to stay with me there.  So good to have a retired nurse serving as honorary big sister.  Sellers was standing by to drive me home if Barb needed any help.  She didn’t.

Prepping included hooking up to many devices and sticking many things in and on me.  My favorite is the garment that inflates with warm air to keep you all toasty.  Surgery suites are purposefully icy.  My feet were still cold, so Ytarri, my nurse, put two pairs of socks on me. One pair was those compression socks. I looked like a giant marshmallow.

My anesthesiologist came in and addressed my concerns.  I have a history of extreme nausea following anesthesia.  He said he could manage this, and he did. I never felt any nausea at all.

Then my urologist  came in, and, for the third time, explained the impeding surgery and its risks.  He assured me that he had performed 2000 of  these procedures, to which I replied, “I am so sorry.” He laughed and said, “I know, right?” But that is exactly what you want.

Chatted some more with the anesthesiologist as he wheeled me to the OR, but before we got there, I was napping and remember nothing until waking up in post-op a couple of hours later.

I thought, after all the sedatives and the general anesthetic, I would be completely wiped about and feeling lots of pain and they would probably decide to keep me overnight.

No. I woke up feeling great.  Not a twinge. I was provided with this charming doct0r’s-eye-view of the procedure:

Got home by noon and snuggled in the snug, my favorite room in the whole world, for the rest of the day with a couple of best friends, Roxie and Dolly.

  During the day and evening, I enjoyed good conversations using various media with a number of people who care about me. Binge-watched 800 Words.  Ate a Trader Joe’s pizza.  Drank lots of Diet Orange Starkist, the recent winner in a study of what to drink to prevent kidney stones.

Went up to bed about midnight. Looked out the window and saw The Red Planet.  The closest in my lifetime.

What a day.

I always said raising children is a shot in the dark because you have no idea what their future will be like.

If I could do one thing over in my life, it would be how I raise my daughters.  Mostly, I would be kind, creative, and fun.  I had no model for that.  All the parents in my little town were stern and harsh.

Nevertheless, my daughters all turned out to be kind, creative, and fun.  In spite of me.  Not because of me.

At this point in my life, I have chosen to believe that my mother did the best she could.  She worked very hard. She never let up.  She was not kind. But there are so many good memories that I now choose to remember.

These days, child-rearing seems all about making children believe that they are the most important things in the world.  Of course, they are, but I contend that they should never guess that.  Self-esteem is about self.  How you feel about yourself legitimately is not arrived at because a parent is constantly telling you how wonderful you are.  David Sedaris recently commented that his brother praised his child for raising a fork to her mouth.  There is a lot of truth in irony.

I saw the Mr. Rogers movie last weekend. It really is not safe to say anything negative about Mr. Rogers, so I won’t.  But as for me, my love is unconditional.  My “like” from time to time is not. I don’t always “like you just the way you are.” Your words and actions just may not be very likable on occasion.  Parents of young children need tell them that.  Being a parent is not a popularity contest.

Now, on to the point I really set out to make.  We presently have as leader the free world, a man who was not raised with acceptance or affection.  I have read this about POTUS’s father.  I think Trump Sr. was always on little Donald’s case, and not in a loving way.  I do not think kindness played a part.  I have read that he later told his sons to get out in the business world and be killers.

So, as a result of that, among other things, we get a world leader who is so broken that much of his leadership or lack thereof seems to be based on who likes him.  He says that a lot.  “I think he likes me.”  Leadership  and public service is not a popularity contest either. This isn’t junior high, for heaven’s sake!