Torturous kidneys, empty hospital rooms, and love

My kidneys don’t like me.

And I can’t say that I’m their biggest fan, either.

Last Thursday, I found myself in the ER yet again for another kidney stone. It was a bad one—at one point, I was crawling on the floor of the waiting room like an infant, then on my knees and keeled over while moaning and writhing loudly, and finally in the fetal position trying not to cry. Yes, we’re in a global pandemic, and I was on the floor of a public place. Judge me all you want. If you’ve never felt the pain that a kidney stone causes, then you can’t understand my behavior. I will apologize zero amount of times.

When I finally got to a room and had some morphine and other drugs I don’t recall pumping through my veins, I looked around the very empty and quiet space, and for a brief moment, I felt sad. (I definitely don’t remember all of my thoughts or things I said that day once I was drugged up, but I distinctly remember this.) It wasn’t the first time that I had been in a hospital room all by myself because of my kidneys, but something felt different.

I didn’t call anyone. I eventually texted my sister, and apparently I later posted an Instagram story, but part of me didn’t want to reach out to anyone. I didn’t want to ask for help. I didn’t want anyone to feel obligated to offer to be there with me. I didn’t want to feel like I was a burden for anyone. (Plus, with the whole COVID thing, I knew that a hospital is probably the last place anyone would want to be.)

While I know that those thoughts are toxic and that I have enough genuine people in my life who would have been there in a heartbeat for me, it’s simply how I felt in that moment. I didn’t let myself sit in that pity party for long, though, because even if it did hurt my heart a little, one of my life creeds took over.

You are valued. You are loved. And you matter.

I may not have a boyfriend or husband or a date for any Saturday night ever, and I may have met guys who have deceived me and told me lies, but that doesn’t mean that my life is like a lonely hospital room. No one person is going to meet all of our needs, anyway.

And even though I know those things—and I don’t want to be a complainer—it’s not always easy being single. I’m a strong independent woman, and I get really pumped up when I hear Beyoncé, Kelly, and Michelle preaching the lyrics in “Survivor,” but I completely understand what Selena Gomez means when she reminds us that “The Heart Wants What It Wants.” (I’m aware that I talk about being single a lot, but I was once in a writing class in which the teacher told me to write what I know—and I know a heck of a lot about being single, so I write about it.)

I realize that life is going to be difficult sometimes, and our plans don’t always pan out the way we would prefer that they would. Duh. That solo hospital excursion likely isn’t the last one I’ll have. It’s OK—Destiny’s Child, remember? But I don’t want people to think the same things I thought that day. Your people care about you, and they would be upset if you didn’t reach out to them while you were lying in a hospital bed all by yourself. They love you.

Even when your kidneys don’t.