Oxalates? Myron thought. What the hell are they?
At just that moment another intense jolt of searing pain wracked him. His abdomen felt as if it would explode. “Good God, can’t you speed it up a bit?” he managed to squeeze from between gritted teeth.
Myron Delpi was seated in the back of a Coach Cruiser on his way to hospital. The pain forced him to lie prone on the sofa-seat in an attempt to straighten out. For reasons he could not explain, he felt that lying flat would make the pain go away.
“Lo Siento, senor. I try my best,” said his rental navigator.
Two days ago, Myron had been working on his rock garden back home. The pain he’d felt in his lower back yesterday morning he had simply caulked up to over-exertion; until about half an hour ago. On his way to the final deal this morning in Buenos Aires, to buy his way in to a twenty percent share of Amalfi, Argentina’s largest investor bank, Myron had literally been brought to his knees in the middle of his hotel lobby as the first stabbing pain gripped him from just between his belly button and groin.
The current pain receded and Myron noticed that it came in fairly regular waves.If he was right, he had about four minutes until the next attack. In sync with his bio-rhythms, said the on-board digital doctor. The hotel concierge had summoned Delpi’s navigator and the man managed to assist him to the Coach Cruiser with orders from the concierge to override the auto-drive on his machine and make it double-time from Hotel Panamericanos to Hospital Britanico.
While waiting for the next wave of pain to hit, Myron listened again as the digital doctor described how he could have gotten kidney stones. “Kidney stones happen more often in hot locales due to the contributing factor of dehydration. They can be caused by oxalates, which prevent the body from absorbing both iron and calcium which are then processed out of the body in the kidneys. Foods high in iron or calcium and oxalates, such as broccoli and carrots should not be consumed in abundance for this reason”, continued the digital doctor.
Myron laughed. He loved broccoli but a sudden memory from his college Ancient History class resurfaced. Something about an American president who hated broccoli.Maybe he knew something we don’t, he thought.
The Coach Cruiser was riding higher than the automated traffic, up in the public service lane. This driver was doing everything he could to get Myron to the hospital quickly. Just at that moment, Myron fretted about his banking deal. They held no truck for delays, the Amalfi family. Still, Myron supposed, they would find this an acceptable excuse for his absence.
“How much longer?” Myron ventured, speaking up at the Coach Cruiser’s ceiling as he lay on his back.
Cinco minuti,” responded the man from the front seat.
“Shit,” spat Myron as he thought about the next wave of pain awaiting him.
Short Stories