What is a sentence with the word stricture

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Urethral stricture may be caused by inflammation or scar tissue from surgery, disease, or injury. This is a example for stricture. [ Source: http://www.chacha.com/question/what-is-a-sentence-with-the-word-stricture ]
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What is a sentence with the word stricture
Urethral stricture may be caused by inflammation or scar tissue from surgery, disease, or injury. This is a example for stricture.
Can anyone tell me a sentence with the word stricture?
A urethral stricture is a narrowing of a section of the urethra.

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Would you read and comment on my reflection on the brevity of life? (the first of two parts)?
Q: It is with the most exquisite, and morbid, irony that we pause to reflect on the transience of our mortal existence. How insufficient is the familiar three score and ten for compassing the extraordinarily diverse and richly nuanced offerings of human experience. Yet paradoxically, does not this very brevity, and the occasional sense of urgency it engenders, render life’s mysterious trajectory more accessible to reflection, even while emphasizing its vicissitudes? Indeed, is three score and ten not poignantly balanced as a span scarcely adequate for the fulfillment of our dreams and, at the same moment, as a sentence of unbearable length, choked with contemplative yearning for lives unlived and potential selves lost irretrievably in the mingled scream of weltering tempest and plangent wave.Every day, as I see my fellows scurry about, rushing duty-bound from one appointed task to the next, I grow by inches more wistful and melancholy in the realization that I move with them, draw by many of the same dark compulsions and dire necessities. Alas, the beacon of introspection, guided by Time’s injurious hand, reveals the somber shadow that falls between the realm of dreams and the daylight world’s dull web of discontents. The practice of self-reflection also forms the basis for what must be one of life’s deepest ironies — the subtle workings of a keen, metacognitive mind hold implicit within them the profound recognition of impermanence I all human affairs. Sic transit gloria mundi. The miracle of human consciousness, the capricious crown that seems to leave our species poised tantalizingly between the gods and the creatures of the forest, is poised only to fall to earth, another leaf brown, embrittled, and withered by time. Time that gave doth now his gift confound, and all within his bending sickle’s compass come. It reminds us of nothing so much as the abyss that opened up, according to Roman historians, in the center of the Forum. According to Livy a brave young knight, Curtius, in obedience to an oracle, to save his country, threw himself, armed and on horseback, into its blind depths to propitiate the gods.Is not the chasm merely one of the devouring mouths of that pit of blackness that lies beneath us, everywhere? Ay, the firmest substance of human happiness is but a thin crust spread over it, with just reality enough to bear up the illusive stage-scenery amid which we tread. It needs no earthquake to open the chasm. A footstep, a little heavier than ordinary, will serve, so we must step very daintily, not to break through the crust at any moment. By and by, we inevitably sink! Vanity of vanities, for Rome itself was devoured by that pit of blackness; temples have tumbled into it, armies with triumphal banners raised have marched into the great chasm, with martial music playing as they stepped over the brink…Alas, we are never assured a full complement of years. Our time, however brief, may be dramatically foreshortened by disease, or mere happenstance, yet further. The understanding that so much exertion, and pathos, must be contained in so slender a vessel renders the meaning of those exertions, with all of their sublunary ebbs and flows, more poignant. It ushers in the intimation of the experience of living as more poetry than prose, for in the former the compression of meaning imposed by the formal strictures of rhyme and metrical foot — and even of brevity itself — heightens the sense of each word, each syllable, each breath as singularly important in itself, precious and irreplaceable. Each seems to spring forth, expand and fill space, resonating and blending there with all others in an exquisitely arresting balance of dissonance and harmony. And, like poetry, life’s own mysterious aesthetic can be no more contained than the wind.For my uninformed respondent, a score is twenty years, a decade is ten years. I’ve made no effort to use ‘big words’, only the correct ones.It is remarkable that people who are so concerned with concision require so many words to tell you that very fact… oh well, another of life’s mysteries.I’d hardly call this a complex or long piece of writing, just a passing thought instead… albeit one that returns frequently.
A: This is a very deep piece of writing and therefore requires a large amount of thought.This is exactly what I have been looking for in Yahoo! Answers for over a month now!And while it might not be my place to say it,”Vet” it’s supposed to be deep that is the way that many people like their writing,they want to be able to pick different meanings and ideas out of it,they don’t want to just look at it and say”oh well,I it seems as though it can’t be looked at from a different angle.” Bravo,you have created a very thoughtful piece of writing!
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