Waaaaaaay TMI -- You Have Been Warned
2004-11-09, 11:11 a.m.

As is my way, I neglected to relay a significant episode that occurred in my life a coupla weeks ago, which shall heretofore be known as "Stomach Paining, Must Find Toilet." You have an idea now where this story might be going, so it's your own fault if you want to poke your eyes out after this entry. Forewarned is for... somethingsomething and that's all I'm sayin'.

Since my life has been one gigantic doctor's appointment over the last two and a half years due to my accident, I generally don't bother to talk about my health as it is one boring, exhausting saga that usually sounds like I'm feeling sorry for myself. Which I'm really not. I mean, most of the time, in spite of the constant pain, I think it's the absolute best thing that could have happened to me. I was a runaway train on the track to self-destruction and this seriously derailed me, for much much longer than I anticipated, but slowed me down enough to finally get my life under a semblance of control and a focus in the right direction. So for that I will be eternally grateful. I don't know why I feel the need for this disclaimer here, but basical, I guess I just don't want to come across as a hypocondriac and complainer. I mean, I am certainly a complainer (also see: every other entry I've ever written), but not a hypocondriac AND complainer. That's just too much.

Anyway, in the time of B.A., I didn't really go to the doctor. Even for things I probably should have gone to the doctor for--so unless the Grim Reaper climbed into bed with me, I couldn't be bothered. ANYway, about 8 years ago, I had The Worst stomach pains I have ever experienced. Like, double-over-and-cry pains. I thought for sure my appendix ruptured or somesing. But still, I thought it "would pass." Why feel bad AND go to the doctor? But then, when I started shitting blood *herk*, I had no choice but to seek medical help. I was hospitalized for three days and it turns out I had polyps in my colon (which they removed) and maybe I had colitis? I don't know, as I was just glad it was over and didn't necessarily pay attention to what I needed to do as follow-up. Maybe they said I should have a colonoscopy every couple of years or something? Again, I don't know and haaaviously, never attempted to find out.

Fast forward 8 years and some weeks ago. Presently, I go to a doctor (whether it be neurologist, orthopaedist, psychiatrist, internist, bleh blah bloh) far more than is acceptable and perhaps even a little more than is necessary. But in the span of three weeks, I gave myself a second-degree burn, got a staph infection (apropos of nothing) and then followed it up with my first ever yeast infection. So I went to the doctor even more than I would in my "normal" schedule. Therefore, when a few days later I woke in the night with Stomach Paining, Must Find Toilet, I was none too happy with the sequence of events. But when I had to wake up three more times in the night to shit and the stomach pains became increasingly agonizing, I became a little concerned. It was the day before Matt's birthday, and I had an inkling that it might be a relapse of the colotis? or whatever it was that I suffered all those years ago. By my 19th shit at 11am, I had visions of being hospitalized again and tried to hold off for as long as I could, maybe until the day after Matt's birthday? But no, my primary physician advised me to go to the Emergency Room as soon as humanly possible. *Sigh* So Matt rushes home from work and takes me to the Emergency Room where I suffer through the entire awkward conversation of "My movement of bowels, I mean, my bowel movement, I mean, my stool, which is diarhhea, is I mean, well, it contains blood?" and then am taken in "for observation". And what happens? Oh, you know. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Not on the doctor's part, mind you. On my ass's part. Silence from the rear nether region and the pains have mysteriously and suddenly gone. So I lay for hours, happily reading magazines from 1986, while they wait for me to take a dump. "Anything?" "Uhhh, not yet." until finally, they say, "Okay, Get Out." So I go home *sigh of relief* and then proceed to not take another shit for a week. A WEEK, people! And I'm eating prunes and salad and vegetables and raisins like there's no tomorrow. Senakot, Ex-lax, Milk of Magnesia, be my minions! Nahhhhh. Nuthin'. I feel weak, shaky. What to do? At long last, my patience is rewarded with a relatively modest expulsion, and only one more in two weeks time, so now it's become a Serious Problem.

And at loooooong last, I get to the point of the story. Which is: I'm fucking starving. See, yesterday, I felt like crap so I only had a bowl of soup and an english muffin all day. And, tomorrow, I have a colonoscopy so today, I can only have clear liquids all the live-long day. That is, until later in the day, when I'm gonna drink some Colon Blow--ok, it's not really Colon Blow, but it's something else that will definitely blow out my colon. So I have that going for me. But in the meantime, I'm So. Fucking. Hungry. that I wanna eat my hand. And this entire entry has been an exercise in Not Going to The Kitchen. I'm truly sorry, but what am I supposed to do?

I'm only thankful that vodka is a clear liquid.