May you live in interesting times. Ancient Chinese curse
This past Tuesday my body decided that it wanted a total break from food and drink. The day started innocently enough. The sun shone, the birds sang and I went to my weekly art class. I started to feel a bit puny and gave up 30 minutes early to go home. Was feeling a bit crampy and gassy so I took what seemed to be appropriate meds. That didn’t help at all.
Hubby had a nice dinner planned. Pork chops, marinated tomatoes, and green beans. I ate this big dinner mainly because I was hungry and I thought that eating would sort of help push things on through, so to speak.
Well dammit if I wasn’t wrong, way wrong. The crampy feeling in my guts turned into shooting pains, then to agonizing pains. Then the party morphed into me hugging the commode and projectile vomiting. Things went downhill from there, if that’s even possible, and I progressed to lying in the bathroom floor perspiring and groaning. Then I completely lost it and was moaning and crying. At this point I decided that I needed professional help and asked Mr. Husband to call an ambulance.
He did and then also called his mother and the next door neighbor who is a retired nurse to come over. Now I have an audience. Yee Hah! I don’t blame him though. It must have been a terrifying sight to have his wife writhing around in the floor screeching like a banshee.
The ambulance came and took me away at what I thought was a rather leisurely pace. Things picked up bit when the pain got even worse. I started screaming bloody murder and begged Jesus to come and take me home. They turned on the siren and started to drive really fast, probably to drown out all the noise I was making.
At the hospital they had to use the old “Ma’am, you need to calm down so we can examine you” line. It didn’t go over well. It took 4 people to pry me out of the fetal position I was in to poke around on my belly. I wasn’t fighting them really, I just couldn’t straighten out on my own. They finally decided that it was safe to give me something for the pain and shot me full of happy juice. Things got a little better after that but I was in a complete fog when they shot me through a CT scanner, complete with dye and the whole nine yards.
The diagnosis was that I had a partial obstruction in my small intestine. For whatever reason the cosmos decided that my life was too dull and decided to tie my guts in a knot. The decision was that I be admitted to the hospital and have no food or drink for 2 days as a conservative treatment and an alternative to surgery. It’s amazing how much a one fantasizes about food and drink when not allowed to have any. Even the big sign on my hospital room door was a mockery. It was a big picture of a cheese burger with a red circle and a line through it. Every time the door opened so someone could stick pins in me and ask me how I felt, I saw that damned sign.
I got to imbibe liquid food after 2 days. Let me tell you, after an enforced fast, chicken broth, apple juice, and ginger ale tasted like nectar of Gods. It turns out that I was on poop watch. This means that I could not go home until they had tangible proof that my digestive track was functioning according to specs.
They evidently grew tired of waiting for nature to take its course and gave me some industrial strength laxative. It worked and sent me into another wild and crazy adventure in the bathroom that lasted the better part of 2 hours. I’ll spare you the details.
An unexpected result of this enforced purge was that my complexion took a turn for the better. My skin looked as smooth and unsullied as a baby’s bottom. I don’t recommend this approach though.
On Friday they let me go home. I must eat a soft, low fiber diet, for 2 weeks. Oh well, at least I look good. That’s got to count for something…right?