Scrolling through the list of new posts from blogs I am following, I read a title that I thought said "Oh, How I Adore Your Kidneys."
I was immediately intrigued AND entertained, and I was like, I like where this is going.
I clicked on it, began reading, and it wasn't funny. In fact, it was all heartfelt and sentimental. At this point, dear readers, I was very confused. And I was no longer intrigued or entertained. So, I scrolled back up to the title. Yeah, it actually said "Oh, How I Adore Your *Kindness*." Not kidneys. There were no kidneys being loved.
But man, all I can think about now are those kidneys. The kidneys that someone loves. And, of course, of how much you would have to love someone to say something like that to him or her. I mean, you love a person SO MUCH, all the parts of them, that you are able to skip past all the other more "likeable" glamorous body parts and settle on the kidneys, the organs that help filter the toxins from your blood, produce urine, regulate important hormones, and help produce Vitamin D (look it up). Intense.
And then I thought about my poor Jeremy and his kidney situation. The guy only has one and ONE-THIRD of a kidney. That's it.
He wasn't born all lopsided like that. In fact, he lived 20 glorious years of double-kidney balance, but then was in a bad car accident and lost two-thirds of one kidney. (When he first told me this, all I could imagine was him, in the car after the crash, and his kidney splitting specifically into thirds, and two-thirds seeping out of his skin and disappearing into the fog [I have been informed there was no fog on the day of said accident, but I feel the image is incomplete without the fog. How else could two-thirds of a kidney sneak away and become lost if there was no fog to slink away and become enveloped in?]) and, to be honest, that's the way I like to think of it happening because the way he actually lost the large majority of his left kidney is that it was so smashed that all the dead pieces just floated around in the open space of his body and then ... okay, too many details. Moving along.
I was pretty horrified about this when I first heard the story. I was concerned for his well-being, but once he assured me he functioned just fine with what he had, I immediately went where any sane (or selfish. Whatever.) person would go -- but what if I need a kidney one day??!? Because HE should be the first in line to give me one of his. Even if he is not a match (he asked about that, but he can't snake out of this that easily), he should waltz right up to the doctor while I languish all pale and sickly in the hospital bed and turn around, lift up the back of his shirt, and say "Take it doc. Anything to save the love of my life. If it's not a match, please, give it to her so she can have an extra!" then I would smile weakly, but the exertion of smiling and the excitement of his grand gesture would be too much for me in my fragile state, and I would (gracefully) pass out and the doctor would scream "CODE BLUE! CODE BLUE! The most beautiful and fragile patient in the hospital needs attention," and Jeremy would fall to the floor sobbing, and all the doctors and nurses would gather around me and someone would scream "Live, damn you, LIVE!!" and my eyes would flutter open and all would be well.
So, long story short -- I can never say something as eloquent as "Oh, How I Adore your Kidneys" to my husband; instead, I will have to same something ridiculous and cumbersome like "Oh, How I Adore Your One Whole Kidney and The Other Remaining One-Third of a Kidney That Was Once Whole."
Talk about the death of romance.