a kidney stone attack. It must have got pried loose. Turns out there were two, my
fourth and fifth, evil twins.
My stones haven’t been analyzed, but are very likely, given my diet, oxylate.
When doctor first saw me he asked if I drink a lot of tea.
“All day long,” I said.
“I’m a chocoholic.”
“Never met a nut I didn’t like.”
He could tell, I suspect, by the look on my face that I probably wasn’t going to
change. “You can mitigate it by drinking lots of water,” he said. I’m not crazy
about water, but I’m making an effort. I’m more or less resigned to passing a
stone every four or five years. The one saving grace about the stone is that once
ejected, it carries itself clean off, leaving no residual ill-humors behind. “The stone
does not meddle with the soul,” Montaigne said. It’s as if the demon seed takes all
of one’s sins and rancor, precipitated and crystalized, along with it. At least for a
I came across, while browsing the subject of diets, the Paleolithic (“caveman”)
Diet, and decided to give it a try. Perhaps the “pre stone age” concept appealed to
me. Its focus is on food that a hunter-gatherer would consume: meat, fish, eggs,
salad, fruit, and any vegetable that is not toxic when uncooked (no potatoes). Low
salt and sugar. Excluded, primarily, are foods that are the product of agriculture:
cereals, grains, and dairy. After having fed my inner caveman for several days
now, I haven’t experienced the urge to drag a mate home by the hair, nor an
undue sensitivity to Geico commercials. I do, actually, feel a bit fresher. Even a
tad atavistic. Yabba Dabba Do. If I start charging off the the beach, to the sound
of a bongo roll, my feet spinning like tires, feed me a Twinkie.