It was about a little wooden carving of a Native American in a canoe that was set into a river somewhere in the upper Midwest or Canada or somewhere. You see, carved on the bottom of the canoe was a message entreating anyone who found the little man to place him back in the water so that he could find his way to the sea.
Through a series of misadventures (getting stuck in beaver dams or picked up by children - that sort of thing) his journey is thwarted and then continued anew as people eventually set him on his way again. Eventually he gets to the Atlantic Ocean, where, one can only imagine, he was eaten by a shark.
Anyway, this is a good deal like the journey of my kidney stone.
I've not heard from the spikey bastard in a couple of weeks. It has been paddling around in my bladder, I suppose. In any case, someone has read the inscription carved on its horrible underbelly and returned it to its purpose.
So now it seems to be on the move again, this time out the only way available to it and through the last, most awkward to describe leg of its journey.
Suffice to tell you that it hurts, but not so much as when it is in the kidney, knocking about and making one long for a nuclear missile to swallow. You feel that you have to pee a lot and then you don't pee. It is like a bumblebee is stuck in your urethra and is trying desperately to find its way out, blindly.
Oh yeah, and the bumblebee is wearing those football pads with the spikes - like in The Road Warrior.
Back on the meds.
When I catch the little fucker maybe I'll post a picture. Wouldn't that be terrible?
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