The tests, blood drawings, urine samples, and X-rays are all done, studied, and discussed.

I need two surgeries in the coming months, one in April and one in May.

The surgeries will remove my two most significant health issues of the past few months and bring me back to full strength.

One will be painful and challenging, the other painless and very fast. One involves a complex recovery; one requires none.

The first one – my left big toe’s amputation –  is scheduled for early April. The second, scheduled just this morning, is for removing a single kidney stone that was microscopic two years ago but growing more extensive now.

Still, growing a bigger kidney stone, one of my favorite doctors Dr. Seth Capello (above is playing the role of kidney stone), says is the cause of the blood in my urine and bladder issues that have alarmed some of my doctors and me over the past couple of months.

It sounds odd, but it could have been much worse, and it is for much of the world. I will never forget that.

I have many faults, flaws, and imperfections, but I have been consistent about some things all my life: an avertion to hypocrites and an instinctive loathing for whining and self-pity. I am not interested in documenting my woes or lamenting my troubles. I am fortunate, happy, and at peace.

Life is full of pain. Suffering is a choice.

The test results show a healthy 75-year-old with a strong kidney, low cholesterol, slightly high blood pressure (no surprise), and well-controlled diabetes. I am, said one doctor, “good and stable.” I was diagnosed as an “extreme sleep apnea” patient with 80 heart events an hour.

My masks  have reduced that to 1-3 occasions an hour, and I sleep through most of the night for the first time in memory.

I have my troubles, but I never feel sorry for myself or embrace the woe-is-me-and-my-poor life that seems to be a new American epidemic, thanks partly to the Internet.

The stoics of the old days are gone; when we bleed, we all bleed right out in the open and on and on. And everyone can tell us what to do.

I consider myself vital and in good health, and I am fortunate to get both surgeries, which will make me healthier, and more mobile and almost certainly extend my life span. That is not something I feel badly about. I am fortunate to have doctors that I trust.

When I first saw the blood in the urine, I went right to cancer in my mind, the most intense national bugaboo, and I was relieved to hear Dr.Capello diagnose a kidney stone, which is very treatable but can be very painful.

The surgery he is planning will spare me that if it is successful.

One of my favorite doctors is Dr. Capello, my urologist in the photo. There, he is acting the part of a kidney stone in our meeting this morning to go over all the tests. I pulled out my camera.

We laugh a lot in his office. You might think a urology office would be grim, and I’m sure it sometimes is, but we have a blast. He has a wonderful sense of humor. He shares my belief that life is fundamentally ridiculous and unpredictable.

Dr. Capello loves to choreograph parts of the body with his hands, which twirl like a windmill when he explains his diagnosis.

He had me almost on the floor laughing when he took on the voices of the prostate, kidney,  and bladder and, in their voices, explained what goes on down there. I told him he ought to put that riff on YouTube.

Dr. Capello acts out the details of the appropriate body parts with enthusiasm and imagination.

He is a riot.

Kidney stone surgery is one of those marvels of modern technology. It will occur in a hospital surgery suite, but I will not be knocked out or cut up.

The kidney stone will hopefully be broken up by a machine bombarding it with sound waves that will break it up into sand size particles small enough to flush out of the body. If this procedure fails – it works 75 percent of the time – that’s the end.

If that happens, there is another, more invasive surgery which is 95 percent effective but more intrusive and painful.

I’m an ex-horse gambler; I like the 75 percent odds.

The real pain, of course, will come from amputating my toe.

My leg will be numbed during the surgery, so it will be dangerous for me to walk unassisted afterward since I won’t feel the leg at all. When the numbing wears off, I will need large doses of Ibuprofen.

The numbness will remain anywhere from 12 hours to two days.

I’ll be given crutches or a walker and be almost completely immobile for two to three days. Infection is the danger and the enemy. I had to go back and have the wound examined several times.

I will be in wrapped bandages for three weeks at least, elevate my foot, apply ice packs frequently, and wear special surgical boots for three weeks, after which the sutures will be removed.

Only then can I shower, wear socks and shoes again walk as I wish.

Only then will life return to normal.

If my insurance company agrees, I will be fitting and wearing a new brace to help keep my foot in place and permit me to walk as much as I want. The first brace was constructed to protect the toe. The new brace will be re-constructed to help the foot.

The kidney surgery will come right after that. Then I will get on with my life.

I’m huge on not turning life into a crisis. I grew up with much drama, and I am allergic to it.

I will be blogging and taking pictures through the recovery; I expect no interruptions of the blog, except possibly on surgery day. And I’ll post a Recovery Journal, as I usually do after surgery.

So that’s the health care report—another chance to be healthy, live longer, and live better.

As always,  I have the best possible advice coming from my doctor. I don’t need or want a second opinion, and I never take medical advice from strangers online who don’t ask to be paid. I’ve learned that lesson.

I thank the blog readers for their good wishes; they are appreciated.