They say truth is stranger than fiction. Sure, it’s cliche, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.

I’ve been chronicling the road to age seventy since the beginning of 2022, Yeah, there have been a few hiccups along the way, but for the most part, the sailing has been smooth. I even found acceptance of this new milestone, which surprised me.

I had some plans for the weekend, which included doing some writing. Friday, June 10th was the final day of year number sixty-nine. I assumed I’d recap the journey. Saturday, June 11th was opening day of year number seventy. Celebrate good times…C’MON!!! Hmmm…best laid plans is another cliche that went awry.

Birthday number seventy has to be the strangest celebration of my life. You know it’s going to be bizarre when the first words you hear are “Happy Birthday. I’m here to take your vital signs.”

Things were going so well. They really were. And then I started peeing blood. Not just traces of blood in my urine, either. It looked like cranberry juice. That led to an eight-hour Tuesday night visit to the emergency room. KIDNEY STONES!

Okay! No biggie! I’ve had them before. They usually pass within a few days. But, on Thursday the pain worsened. By Friday, it was unmanageable, even with heavy painkillers. It was back to the ER again. The doctors did a quick procedure that lessened the pain but led to the overnight birthday visit. I was released by noon, so I did get to spend the second half of my birthday celebrating…and by celebrating I mean spending the rest of the day in bed.

That’s the short version of how I spent my seventieth birthday. It could have been worse….much worse.

Late on Saturday night, my significant other said she felt bad because “you got gypped.” Yeah, it wasn’t the way anyone would want to celebrate any birthday, but I feel far from being gypped. That goes to so many that didn’t get the opportunity to see the things and celebrate what I’ve been able to recently. I’ve seen both my children grow up to become adults. One grandchild is here with another to come in November. I’ll see my daughter get married sometime this fall. It doesn’t sound like I got gypped, does it? I think blessed is a better word.

So, happy birthday number seventy to me. I’m grateful to be here…kidney stone and all. Bring on number seventy-one.

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