Just call me the poster boy for OPK/SCB

FATHER’S DAZE
Emmitt B. Feldner  for The Review

EDITOR’S NOTE: Our columnist told us he has nothing this week, to which we answered what makes this week any different, then dug this old column out of the trash to stick here.

I have suffered for years with OPK/SCB.

You won’t find it in any medical dictionary or textbook and there’s no charitable foundation devoted to finding a cure for it, but it’s still real enough – for me, at least.

OPK/SCB stands for overproductive kidneys/small capacity bladder, something I’ve had probably all my life.

I’m at the age now where they have other names for it – but those are too hard to pronounce or spell, so I’ll just stick with OPK/SCB.

They also have medications and drugs that can supposedly cure those hard-to-spell, hard-to-pronounce conditions, but a lot of those are equally hard to spell and pronounce.

Since I’ve learned to live with OPK/SCB all my life, I’m still foregoing all those drugs and medications to deal with the hard-to-spell, hard-to-pronounce conditions.

My OPK/SCB first really manifested itself in college, when I was finally able to legally linger in bars and taverns and consume their offerings.

I would do that quite often in fact, I have to admit. I could blame it on the crowd I hung around with, but each of them would probably say the same about hanging around with me.

I would invariably be the first one in the group who would have to answer the call of nature. And I would usually wind up visiting the necessary room several times, at least, before anyone else in the group went for the first time.

It was around this time that I discovered that in terms of volume, in my case at least, I would imbibe by the bottle and it would come out by the barrel.

I was walking confirmation of Archie Bunker’s wisdom that you don’t buy beer, you just rent it. In my case, it was usually a very short-term rental and I typically didn’t get much of a return on my investment.

As I’ve gotten older, my responsibilities and duties as an adult have forced me into more sober and moderate habits – all right, you can stop laughing now.

At any rate, my OPK/SCB nowadays manifests itself most often overnight.

Many are the nights that my sound sleep is interrupted by the call of nature – and no, it’s not the sweet call of nature, either.

Fortunately, Terry has gotten used to it over the years, so she doesn’t even stir anymore when I stir in the middle of the night.

This is one case, though, where I can say that I know my way even in the dark, having been there so many times in the dark.

It hasn’t gotten to the point where I’ve been tempted to consolidate things and throw a mattress in the bathtub.

If it ever did, however, I might give serious consideration to some of those hard-to-spell, hardto pronounce medications.

Terry has never suffered from OPK/SCB to the same extent as I have, but it does seem to be growing more acute for her as well.

She blames it on the water pills she’s taking, but I can’t fall back on that excuse.

It does make things interesting when we travel, though.

We now have to plan our routes and travel times to leave room for sufficient pit stops along the way, as the range on our car’s gas tank is infinitely longer than the range on either one of our tanks.

However, we’re still working on coordinating our calls of nature so that they come at the same time, to reduce the number of stops.

Maybe one of those pharmaceutical firms can work on a pill for that.


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