Wednesday, July 21, 2004

Discharged!

Continued from
Part One: This Is How It Happens
Part Two: Emergency Room
Part Three: Misery

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If you haven’t been reading my blog lately (shame on you!), a couple of weeks ago I spent four days in the hospital for bowel obstruction. In other words, for some reason, the shit in my intestines had formed a blockage—impenetrable, much like Dubya’s rhetoric or his wife.

I ended up in the Emergency Room after experiencing stomach pains which felt like an extreme case of gas and bloating. The gases building up in my stomach could probably destroy an entire city block with its foul smell of rotting cabbages. It’s a good thing the Al-Qaeda didn’t get a hold of me. I could have been used as a Weapon of Mass Destruction.

After four days of hunger and misery, the doctor said that I was ready to be discharged. However, in order to be sure that the obstruction was gone, I had to take a crap.

This is not as easy as it sounds given that I had not had any food for three days. On the morning of fourth day, I was given the clear liquid tray: chicken soup, Jell-O, sherbet. I wolfed it down in 4 minutes. Then I asked for another tray without thinking (Do you think they will charge me for the extra tray? I don’t wanna find a $452 item in my hospital bill for chicken soup).

I peed like a racehorse afterwards—but no crap.

I was getting worried. I really wanted to be discharged that I tried sitting on the pot for a good 30 minutes without success. Finally, Brian suggested that we replicate my normal toilet pattern by giving me a book to read in there while he’s acting like he’s impatiently waiting outside for me to finish my business.

As I sat in there, I thought that something else was missing. So, I told Brian to pretend to be my cat Cordy and scratch at the door to be let in.*

That worked!

It was small and round, like a little brown melon ball. I was elated. I literally clapped my hands and whooped. I looked down lovingly at the little turd floating in the toilet bowl. I felt like I should save it, take it home in a clear plastic bag, like a goldfish from a pet store.

I didn’t have the heart to flush it, so I turned away while Brian did the deed. A few hours later, I was home.

For the next few days I was hyper-aware of all the various comings and goings of my digestive system. I stayed on a soft diet on my own; the doctors left no dietary restriction. I was afraid that another obstruction could occur.

I even debated whether White Castle hamburgers should be my first solid food. On one hand, vegans claim that remnants of beef stayed in your intestines for up to ten years. On the other, being called “sliders” was comforting—I was assured that they would quickly find their way out.

These days, I am feeling healthy and normal. I thank you all for your concern and well-wishes. It is much appreciated.

My time in the hospital had really got me thinking. So, I leave you with this final thought: take life by the horns because one day you’ll regret it when you can’t give a shit anymore.

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* I don’t know what it is about my cat Cordy, but when I close the door to the bathroom, that’s when she will mew and scratch outside the door to be let in. When I let her in, she sits and stares up at me until I scratch her under the neck, which she loves. I guess she thinks that with the door closed and my pants around my ankles, I am a captive audience.

Other posts in this series:


Part 1: This Is How It Happens

Part 2: Emergency Room


Part 3: Misery

Part 4: Discharged!



Dubya can't seem to find the Weapons of Mass Destruction, but you can! Play these games:
Dr. Strangeblix: How I Learned to Start Worrying and Looking for Bombs
Help GWB and Tony Blair look for WMDs
UN Weapons Inspector Game
Rock, Paper, Saddam

Torture innocent goldfish: T-Bone's Stress Relief Aquarium
Or, save them from the Frying Pan!

Harold and Kumar go to White Castle

My past ruminations about poo:
Dropping The Kids Off at The Pool
A Fastidious Bird

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