My poor stoned husband.
Stoned as in full of morphine and vicodin, and "stoned" as in....kidney stones.
I woke up this morning at 4:30, and Pete was pacing in our room, and I thought, "Great. Here comes the $1000 morphine trip to the hospital." And no, that's not a typo-they have to do a CT scan and each cute little picture of your insides costs about $500 each. It's lovely.
You may ask how I know so much about this. Besides my own experience to fall back on, this makes Pete's 5th kidney stone. One he passed while lying on the bathroom floor; the others we've had to go to the hospital.
So here's hoping he passes the stone soon. Here's hoping we can see it so the doctor can analyze it and get Pete some meds to help him not form stones any more. (By the way, he has about 6 or 7 more sitting in his kidneys right now.) Here's hoping Pete can slay his dragon. But not Elliott from the movie, because even though the little boy is dang ugly and has 70s hair, I always did like the dragon.