Not fun

The other day I was suffering particularly bad gut pain. Towards the end of the night I started feeling feverish. As I tried to sleep I was wracked with delirium. Finally, after 6ish I woke theWife and suggested I might have to go to casualty. I was worried I had a bowel obstruction - aka the Gibb Killer.

TheWife suggested I use a microlax first, in case it was just a result of being bunged up. But post use and wait there was no movement at the station, and no word had passed around, off to casualty we went.

I was shaking from pain spasms I was being tested and, within 15 minutes, I was in a bed. The doc came around and took some blood and I got morphine for the pain. Which was kind of nice.

However, at that point the microlax I had prepared earlier (a microlax is a liquid that you shoot up your date), had its impact. My expected dry fart turned out to be a sopping great liquid filled one and I crapped myself. Highly embarrassing. So off I trotted to the toilet, keeping my arse squeezed together and thus taking chain-gang baby steps. I cleaned myself up best I could and went back to bed.

All I can say is thank god for the morphine. Because A) it took away about three steps of pain - from 'I wish I was unconscious' to 'hmmm, that's not pleasant, and B) it helped ameliorate what happened next.

In the doc's defence she did warn me upon her initial examination that this was going to happen. So I had some preparation. But perhaps it's one of those knowing its going to happen makes it worse things.

She had to stick her finger up inside me to make sure I didn't have trapped fecal matter up there.

I don't have a visually pleasing bum. It's hairy - and it had the added benefit of a thin patina of poo from my recent self-crapping. So needless to say I was apologizing muchly for presenting her a less than attractive target for her fingering.

Up went the finger.

Now, I've had a prostate exam before. Which was not pleasant. This took that prostate exam out and slapped it around like an unwanted stepchild. She had to reach a fair distance up to make sure no giant brown bears were a-lurking upstairs, and this involved a fair amount of internal poking around. I could swear I could feel her fingernail and I screamed out 'FINGERNAIL, FINGERNAIL, FINGERNAIL' - except it wasn't. I think it was the pressure she was applying. Indeed, upon withdrawal she noted that she kept her nails trimmed for just this sort of occasion.

Still, I did manage to crack out a crack while she was up my crack - I blithely stated 'so ... that's where my remote went' - which got a mild laugh from the male nurse who was distracting me from my head direction.

I finally got home about midday, suffered another bout of delirium from pain and no-sleep the night before, and effectively lapsed in and out of wakefulness over the next few hours. Plus I had another couple of pants incidences. I didn't really come back into full compos mentis until about 10 pm.

Feel okay now. I had to take more laxative (oral, thank god), and they landed again this morning with another misfired non dry fart.

Crapping yourself is like buses. Ages and ages pass, then you crap yourself four times in 48 hours.

Stupid arse.

PS Big ups to theWife who kept me hydrated and watched over me to make sure I wasn't going to wander off in a delirious state or anything, and for wrangling theNoo at the hospital - which are very exciting places for the hobbit sized - especially all the interesting activity that appears to be happening on the other side of the privacy curtain...