Sunday, October 18, 2015

Fee times a mady

With thanks to SNL

I woke in moderate gut pain but which quickly built to unbearable. I rolled out of bed and lurched myself up—which requires me to push myself off my left thigh keep weight off my degenerating right hip—and staggered to the toilet. 

The first was normalish ... the next two, at ten minute intervals, were not normal. Now in the fecal afterglow my guts are a 'roil and I've had to gulp down meds to take the pain. I'm waiting for the meds to kick in and I may try and return to sleep. Or it could be that I just can't sleep through it and I'll distract myself with reading or CBT. 

I wish I felt empty—I should. But the chaotic welter of spasming and gas defies the brain's ability to discern emptiness. I still feel full because the evil wind and inflammation makes me full. 

I got a tad miffed at the peak of the pain—the why me?!—then remembered that all the horror of my body and the sads in my head make me a better person and one who has had an impact. It's the price I pay for my success. 

To tap into latent Christian upbringing—proud out atheist since the noughties (1)—we all have our crosses to bear. It's just that mine is smaller, was jabbed repeatedly into my tummy then used to beat me over the head.

The meds have kicked in and the storm, still raging, is out to sea. 

Here's hoping it stays that way.

(1) I think. It's hard to know when I let go of the occasional reflexive need for prayer.

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