THE SHOCKING DISCOVERY

After going hurriedly through a collection of “reports” lying before him on the desk he rendered his opinion in this-wise: The summing up of all the reports—as far as my examinations had extended—led to the discovery that my trouble was located in my left kidney!

I was on the point of making some jaunty remark about their having wasted a lot of time and labor in finding out what I had told them at the beginning, when he showed me the X-ray pictures, revealing a condition of the kidney which called for an operation. This discovery having been made in my first examination, all the others seemed a mere waste of time and effort. But I was less disturbed about past events than I was over the prospects of the future. The suggestion of an operation, coming unexpectedly, gave me a queer jolt, not easily described. It seemed more like a bad dream than a reality. Without the remotest idea that any such action would be necessary I had made my plans to return East in a few days; and having felt no pain or inconvenience for more than a month it was impossible to adjust myself to the thought of an operation. A man with a violent toothache has a lessened dread of the dentist; and a griping pain in the midriff or in the appendix quarter mitigates the terror of seeing the doctor; but for a fellow in perfectly good health and spirits to go voluntarily and submit himself to being cut open is quite another matter.

When I reported the verdict to my family, to my utter amazement they seemed not in the least surprised; indeed they were somewhat jubilant that it was no worse. My suggestion to put off the operation till I could think it over met with a storm of protest; the whole family party were of one voice in declaring that as long as it had to be done sometime it must be done immediately while I was in good health. They would all stay with me, play with me, and keep me constantly amused. With the late scientific discoveries in surgery, all contributing to the safety and comfort of the patient, there was nothing to worry about. In short, after the first shock it would be a regular outing for me. One might have supposed they were trying to inveigle me into going to a circus or a football game. Their arguments were seconded and supported by a man we had met at the hotel, who chimed in with the joyful news that he had just been through a similar operation and although, minus one kidney, he never enjoyed such good health in all his life. Without wishing him the least harm, I almost regretted that he felt so well.

We talked with the chief urologist, who joined enthusiastically in their cheerful persuasions; but somehow I couldn’t seem to fall in with their light-hearted view of things. It’s remarkable what a trifling matter an operation is—to the other fellow. They all seemed to regard the act of cutting me open as being no more serious than that of manicuring a broken fingernail.

Any married man knows how difficult it is to hold his own against the arguments of one woman; and to stand out against a whole bevy of them requires a species of fortitude of which no normal man is possessed. Being hopelessly in the minority, both as to numbers and argumentative force, I appealed to Doctor Braasch and asked if the operation couldn’t be postponed a few months or a year without endangering my health. For a moment he seemed to weaken slightly in favor of the losing side, and admitted that it probably could; but the women insisted that it couldn’t. Having made up their minds there was going to be an operation, they would hear to nothing else, and declared that I was only delaying the performance with needless discussion.

I said, “I don’t want any operation; that isn’t what I came here for.”

My wife said, “Maybe you didn’t know it, but that’s exactly what you did come here for. I know a lot of things that you know nothing about. And it’s much better you shouldn’t know.”

She had kept in touch with my diagnostician, and I wondered if he had initiated her into some of the clinical secrets in order to punish me for insubordination. I didn’t ask what it was she knew, nor did it make much difference. Whatever a woman may know, it does not alter the fact that she wants what she wants. And if her wants call for no more than the loss of a kidney, it’s easier to accommodate her than it is to oppose her wishes. Therefore, with the family and the clinical staff arrayed against me there wasn’t much use arguing. Nobody supported my side: I was like a lone defendant facing a “packed” jury, solid for conviction.

The women were convinced that it was such a trivial affair, that they all wished they could take the job off my hands. They were astonished that under the circumstances I should be so obstinate in refusing this opportunity of having Doctor Will Mayo operate on me. The result was, I was made to feel more like a slacker than a hero. What a pity it is, I thought, that those who like such things cannot have their tastes gratified! I wished the kidney would kick up again so I could get thoroughly sore and disgusted with it; but it lay there as quiet as a mouse in the corner—as if it heard what was going on. I could almost hear it whisper, “Stick to your guns, old pal, I’ll be a good kidney in future.” But in a moment of weakness I asked the doctor how long it would take.

“It means only ten days to two weeks in bed and one more to convalesce. Yes, Doctor ‘Will’ can operate on you day after tomorrow morning.” That settled it. At four o’clock the next afternoon, with the mercury thirty below zero, my family accompanied me to the hospital.