Thursday, January 28, 2016

Les Misérables

Sick Husband, 1881 - Vassily Maximov (Source)
If you plug the title of today's post into Google Translate, it will yield a single word, "Wretched."

That is exactly how I felt Tuesday evening. I had just completed Wednesday's post when I felt, something.

A low rumbling from the nether regions, a rumbling of evil portent.

I passed it off (pun not intended) as a bit of gas. Didn't think much of it.

Until all Hell broke loose.

It was a wretched evening, filled with bizarre dreams and a great deal of discomfort. Had I been placed lying on my back on a frictionless surface, I would have been violently propelled backwards. Once I had slid to a halt, I would then have been propelled violently in the opposite direction.

Newton's Third Law in action. I'm postulating that there was a bit of bad beef in my intake yesterday. A bit of bad something, that's for sure.

The less said about Tuesday evening and Wednesday morning the better. I stayed home from work and spent the day laid up in my rack, bemoaning my fate.

That old meme about men turning into complete babies when they get sick?

Absolutely true.


32 comments:

  1. Replies
    1. Yes, Scott, I'm feeling much better. What a difference a day (and many hours in the rack) makes.

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  2. That reminded me of two serious gastro disasters I went through in the Navy. Both food related according to the corpsman.

    So the memory your post triggered could be called a flushback?

    The independent duty corpsman on the Willy R did not mind being woke up to take care of me, and the compazine shot worked great, I didn't even have to roll up my sleeves for the shot! Doc's professional attire of a blue Navy bathrobe was just a little spoiled by the bunny slippers, but I did not care. I just wanted the ordeal of sitting in the head with a bucket to stop.

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    1. flushback... Now that, John, is brilliant.

      Sitting in the head with a bucket sounds exactly right. No fun, no fun at all!

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    2. Ha! We always blamed the food. Sometimes we were even right. Drove the poor Pork Chops to drink.

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    3. Like Chops needs an excuse to drink...

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  3. Glad you're feeling better. I was afraid you were going to tell us that the surgeon butterfingered something a few months ago!

    It's the real omnivore's dilemma, having a gut that's kinda good at meat and kinda good at veg but very good at neither.

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    1. The Missus Herself was a wee bit panicky at first, thinking as you did that perhaps the surgeon had not connected tab A to slot A correctly. But having experienced such manifestations of intestinal discomfort not of the diverticular variety before, I assured her that "This too shall pass."

      Oh boy did it ever.

      Pass that is. Virtually and literally.

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  4. Don't you just hate it when reminded by food that you aren't in charge?
    Glad it wasn't any worse than an epicurean disagreement.

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  5. Ugh! Hate it when that happens. Glad you are up and about because I, too. Immediately thought of your surgery. Phew!

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    1. When the discontented rumblings began, I thought of the surgery. As the evening progressed I realized it was just good old fashioned "upset tummy" so to speak.

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  6. Been there. Hope it never happens again.

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    Replies
    1. Every time it happens I have the same hope. Fortunately these, ahem, outbursts are few and far between.

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  7. Can commiserate with you. Back when my digestive system was re-designed, a portion of my stomach was removed. The remaining portion was then fashioned into a tube. The tube was joined to what was left of my esophagus and the two stapled together. Not long after leaving the hospital I began having marathon bouts of gastric distress, with many a long session spent sitting on the commode . . . discharge valves fully opened. Not at all pleasant. Was told that my problem was called "Dumping Syndrome" and was caused by my partaking of dairy products. Seems that the portion of stomach that was removed was vital in the process of digesting dairy products so, I was now Lactose Intolerant (In a big way.) Now, 14 years later, I'll try to sneak in some dairy and sometimes I get away with it . . . but mostly not.

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    Replies
    1. All I can add is "Ouch." That has to suck.

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  8. Glad you're feeling better. This post is unusual in that it doesn't prompt me with a story idea (that I want to post, or anyone wants to read), but it does involve flying in a single seat aircraft and the same problem you experienced. I'll leave the rest to your imagination.

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    Replies
    1. That's a story that I think we can all wish you wrote, but are glad that you didn't. If you get my drift.

      And FWIW, back in the day I would often work on a jet and wonder why the cockpit smelled "funny."

      Now I know...

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    2. Juvat - would outside loops have helped? Just curious.

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    3. Well...It wasn't me, so I don't know. But seeing a naked man in the front seat of a T-38 at 40K over the top of a thunderstorm is something there isn't enough eye bleach in the world to remove that sight.

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    4. Dave, don't encourage Juvat...

      Oh no, wait, he has stories that must be told. Challenge him or something.

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    5. Juvat, now how am I to sleep this night with that picture lodged firmly in the forefront of the brain-housing-group.

      But I think, now that you've raised the point, you have a story which must be told. Inquiring (read nosy) minds want to know. No matter how much it hurts.

      I mean it's history, important aeronautical history.

      Or something...

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  9. Ugh. No fun. Here's hoping your spectacular performance does not bring cries of "Encore!"

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    1. Oh dear Lord, I so hope not. A one night performance was enough for me!

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  10. I am glad you are on the mend. It is a horrible condition. The Good Lord designed that part of us to keep us safe from something I guess. You KNOW when it's coming. Amazing machines, us.
    I have had it twice now in my olden days, both times related to movie theater popcorn,salt and the mystery slick they put on in the name of butter. I wish it weren't so good going down.

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    Replies
    1. Yeah, because it hurts so much coming out. Either "portal."

      I think I'll stop now. Though as my age advances I think my intestinal tract takes great joy in tormenting me. No doubt as punishment for a wayward youth eating anything that wasn't nailed down.

      So to speak...

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  11. We must have eaten the same thing on the same night. I must be having my own personal earthquake with all the rumbling going on. Can't stray too far from...well, you get the idea. https://boldomatic.com/view/post/vrDLBg

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  12. Sorry you had to go through that but glad you're feeling better.
    I think most of use have experienced the same at some point but
    I wouldn't wish it on anyone! Keep getting better.

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    1. I remember a certain mutual acquaintance from Okinawa, who later joined me at Kunsan, who spent an "interesting" 24 hours in the barracks head. He couldn't come out, no one dared go in.

      A true HAZMAT situation.

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    2. After some of the things we had to eat in the chow hall, I'm surprised this
      didn't happen more often. I still remember Greg Sager eating a roll and finding
      a band aid in it still in the shape of a finger!

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    3. Picture me dry heaving. I remember that as well.

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Just be polite... that's all I ask. (For Buck)