The Day Walter Green Was Born: One Year Later

One year ago today—December 9—my right kidney decided to go into labor. No warning. No countdown. Just me, a meeting, and sudden pain so intense I briefly wondered if this was how my story ended.

Within minutes, James Swain and Rebekah Stapp were watching me morph into the dramatic, low-pain-tolerant version of myself. They got the full performance. They rushed me to urgent care, who took one look, gave me a shot that did nothing, and immediately sent me to the ER. Not exactly confidence-building.

The ER Experience

Deaconess ER treated me like royalty—probably because a grown man curled in the fetal position and praying out loud tends to draw a bit of attention. Someone told me I was “lucky” because a room had “just opened up.” I’m not sure that’s how luck works, but at that point I wasn’t in a position to argue.

Rebekah found a wheelchair (which she immediately turned into a battering ram), handled the paperwork, and graciously allowed me to focus on letting the entire waiting room know I was throwing up. If I’m going to hurl, I prefer it be a shared experience.

Once they pumped me full of pain medication, everything got blurry. I’ve since been told I become very polite and unusually sweet when medicated. This was surprising news to all of us.

Walgreens: The Villain Origin Story

Once discharged—still very much “in labor”—I left with a prescription meant to help usher the kidney stone into the world. We went to the Walgreens at May and 50th. I sat in a chair, moaning and trying not to fall over from the medication, while Rebekah waited in line for 45 minutes.

When we finally reached the counter, the pharmacist acknowledged she had my prescription… and then refused to fill it because they were closing in a couple of minutes. I explained I had been in line long before closing.

She said, “I understand.”

She did not understand, which I tried—very clearly—to explain.

We left and tried another Walgreens. They informed us they couldn’t fill the prescription because the first Walgreens (now closed) “still had it.” Apparently one locked building is enough to shut down the entire healthcare industry.

This is the moment I added Walgreens to my boycott list. (My boycott list is real and enforced.)
It is also how my kidney stone earned his name: Walter Green—because I strongly disliked them both.

Then the Real Heroes Stepped In

When the big-box systems fail you, small-town people don’t.

Dr. Cayci Brickman stepped in quickly and wrote the correct prescription.

Jim Luckie, our local pharmacist and a true Okeene hero, had the medication ready by the time I got home— well after his business hours. His pharmacy was closed long before we even discovered Walgreens was going to be zero help.
For the record, Walgreens and insurance companies could learn a few things from small-town pharmacies. They’re not the problem that big-box stores and insurers make them out to be.

James, Rebekah, and Julie drove me to Kingfisher late that night, after dealing with me in the ER.

Reese Brickman drove me the rest of the way home. We had a full conversation, but I cannot recall what was discussed.

And Amy—my everyday hero—helped me deliver that stone and every stone that followed this year. She deserves a lifetime achievement award and Okeene Citizen of the Year in the Kidney Stone Support Division.

One Year Later

Here’s what stands out a year later:

I cannot do life alone.
And thankfully, God hasn’t asked me to.

He surrounded me with the right people at the right moment—James, Rebekah, Dr. Cayci Brickman, Jim Luckie, Reese Brickman, and Amy. They were His hands and feet that day, and I’m grateful.

I’m still not a fan of Walgreens.
I am a big fan of Okeene, America.
And I’m thankful for the people who show up when you’re at your worst, most dramatic, and most medicated.

Happy first birthday, Walter Green.
You were awful.
You are not missed.

A Little Call to Action

If you’d like to help me celebrate Walter Green’s first birthday, feel free to share this post with Walgreens Corporate—or with CNN, your local news station, or anyone else who enjoys a real human-interest story involving pain, perseverance, and poor pharmacy timing.

Who knows? Maybe Walgreens will finally acknowledge Walter’s origin story and offer an apology.

I’m not holding my breath…
but stranger things have happened.

Some people wrestle with deep theological questions. Others wrestle with moral dilemmas. Me? I wrestle with pie — especially the week after Thanksgiving. And lately, protein keeps pinning it down like Jacob at the Jabbok (Genesis 32:22–32).

Thanksgiving is basically a national holiday devoted to testing your sanctification. My kitchen the day after looked like a carbohydrate crime scene. Pie was whispering, “Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy-laden… and I will give you sugar.” Protein, meanwhile, stood in the corner doing its best impression of a gym bro muttering, “Ground turkey. Again.”

It wasn’t a fair fight. Pie had nostalgia, flaky crusts, and whipped cream on its side. Protein had… chalky shakes and a never-ending supply of ground turkey. If life were a post-Thanksgiving potluck, pie would be the first thing to disappear. Protein would still be sitting on the counter next to the veggie tray, wondering why it even got invited.

Workouts with Ike often turn into theology class — his idea, not mine. He’ll ask me deep biblical questions right when I’m sweating like a pig (which, by the way, is an unclean animal), and I do my best to answer between gasps for air. One day he asked me what I thought about Jacob wrestling with God at the Jabbok. It turned into a whole discussion. At least I think it did — I barely remember it because I was wrestling with leg lifts at the same time. Jacob may have walked away with a limp, but I walked away wondering if my legs were still attached.

But here’s the thing: when Jacob wrestled at the Jabbok, he didn’t walk away the same. He left with both a limp and a blessing. That’s usually how discipline works. It doesn’t leave you unscathed — sore muscles, sore pride, sore abs — but it leaves you stronger and shaped by God’s hand.

Fatherhood feels the same way. Every day is a choice: pie or protein. Comfort or discipline. Temporary pleasure or long-term hopefulness. The easy road fills you for a moment; the hard road fuels you for the journey.

And since full transparency is important: yes, I ate a piece of pie this year. But — and this is character development — I did not eat the whole pie. Old Mike would’ve considered that “cleaning up leftovers.” New Mike is learning boundaries. Discipline doesn’t always look heroic; sometimes it looks like closing the fridge and walking away before you start negotiating with dessert like it’s a hostage situation.

Paul said it like this: “Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable” (1 Corinthians 9:25). Abs or no abs, my boys don’t need a dad who gives in to every craving — they need one who models what self-control looks like, even when the pie is winning the argument.

So no, I’m not breaking up with pie completely. It still gets visitation rights on special occasions. But I’m learning that protein is the training partner I need for Father Figure 2.0. And who knows — maybe pie and protein will eventually learn to get along at the same table.

Father Figure 2.0: Built on discipline. Powered by pie… in moderation.

If you’ve got your own pie-vs-protein story, drop it in the comments. Misery loves company… especially when the company brings pie.

1. Faith
   I’m thankful for a God who doesn’t change, even when everything else does.
2. Oklahoma Roads
   I’m thankful for Oklahoma roads. They keep tire-alignment shops prosperous and humble the rest of us.
3. Pie
   I’m thankful for pie. Cake is fine, but pie tastes like someone put in a little extra effort.
4. Family
   I’m thankful for Amy, Lincoln, and Andrew—who somehow put up with my quirks, plans, late-night ideas, and the way I overthink simple decisions. They deserve more credit than they get.
5. Coworkers
   I’m thankful for coworkers who work hard, care deeply, keep me laughing, and make me look better than I actually am.
6. Hymns
   I’m thankful for hymns—steady truth set to music that still holds up.
   Side note: I still want to know how to correctly sing “God of Earth and Outer Space.”
7. Road Trips
   I’m thankful for road trips—solo or with the boys. That’s where my mind resets and where some of our best conversations happen.
8. Simple Things
   I’m thankful for simple things—a good meal, a clean kitchen, and the five minutes when the house is actually quiet.
9. Health
   I’m thankful for better health—even if working out still feels like a consequence for choices I didn’t make.
10. Colorful Shoes and Socks
    I’m thankful for my colorful shoes and socks. Somehow they became a signature without me ever planning it.
11. Cold Water
    I’m thankful for extra-cold water. It has carried me through more late nights and long meetings than I can count.
12. Great Friends
    I’m thankful for great friends. I’ve often said you can pick your friends and pick your nose, but you can’t wipe your friends under the couch.

If you’ve followed my writing for any amount of time, you know I tend to bounce between nostalgia, faith, family life, childhood memories, OBHC stories, and the occasional confession about my questionable food choices.

Over the next few weeks, I’ll be posting new content — some funny, some reflective, all very “Mike.” I’m also lining up a few throwback posts from the old Mind of Mike and Growing Up Guymon days. (Don’t worry… I’ll ease you in. No deep cuts yet.)

For now, consider this another little teaser.
Something good is coming — assuming my brain cooperates and my socks match.

Ok that’s enough.

Well… here we go again.

I’ve officially dusted off the old writing muscles (they made a loud cracking sound), logged back into my blog, and started typing like it’s 2013 all over again. Several new posts are in the works — stories, memories, faith reflections, and at least one moment where I embarrass myself in public. So… you know… classic Mike content.

For now, consider this your friendly “heads up” that I Know Mike Williams is waking back up.

New posts coming soon — and I promise the next one will have more than 97 words.

Ok that’s enough.

Welcome Back

Well… it’s been a minute.

Actually, it’s been several years, two kids, a house or two, and approximately 127 ideas that never made it past the “I should blog about that” stage.

But here we are. Welcome to I Know Mike Williams — the new online home for my semi-organized thoughts, stories, and musings. If you’re new here, you’ll quickly learn that I tend to bounce between humor, faith, nostalgia, parenting, and whatever happened at the grocery store last Thursday.

If you’ve been reading my blog since the Mind of Mike or Growing Up Guymon days — thank you. And I promise not to make too many “remember when” references that leave newcomers wondering what on earth they signed up for.

Here’s what to expect going forward:

• Stories: Some ridiculous, some reflective, all from real life.
• Encouragement: Because the world needs a little more of it.
• Faith: Not in a preachy way—just part of who I am.
• Randomness: I’m still Mike.

Also—about the T-shirts. Yes, the legendary I Know Mike Williams shirts. I had some. They were awesome. I gave a bunch away. Then prices went up and the budget ran dry. If anyone wants to sponsor my T-shirt habit, I will GLADLY order more to hand out. But I need some dough. (And maybe a connection at a print shop.)

Thanks for stopping by. I hope you’ll laugh, think, and maybe even be encouraged while you’re here.

Let’s make this fun — leave a comment and introduce yourself. And if you want to join the “I Know Mike” community, hit subscribe for new posts and updates.

Ok… that’s enough.