It is fitting that today is the last day of the year as this is most likely the last blog post I will
ever write. I am sad to report I am about 3 minutes away from death. So on Friday afternoon
I started with a sore throat, slight cough and cold. Not awful- but enough to be annoying and put
a damper on my weekend plans. As if the cold wasn't bad enough I start with vomiting Saturday
morning. Great, so now I have the stomach bug and a cold. Bad, but still not the end of the world.
Oh and as I posted on my Facebook page, if you have the stomach bug ditch the weighted blanket
and go for a regular cotton throw instead. I was in bed when the urge to purge came over me.
I try to jump up out of bed but my legs are wrapped up in about 20 pounds of fabric.
Not an easy feat when you are already weak from dehydration, it was like an off Broadway version
of Cirque du Soleil gone horribly wrong. I'm trying to leap off the bed, the weight of the
blanket has my ankle contorted into some ass backward check mark tied to the bed causing me
to fall flat on my face with vomit rising up my throat by the second. Good times. Just when I
think this GI nightmare is over, since there is nothing left in my belly, in addition to the
"throwing" I start "going". So here I am now Sunday morning alternating between throwing and
going, even better times! But let's be honest at this point when i "go" the stink is then triggering
my "throw" response. It is like a cruel, cruel sadist version of the chicken and egg theory.
What came first? Was I still throwing with going added in? Was the throwing phase supposed
to be over and it naturally transitioned into going and if I my super human sense of smell didn't
exist would it have just been going and no throwing? It is just an enigmatic moment in time that
will most likely never be solved.
This being me, long time readers can guess that my travails didn't end there. Oh no my friends,
it gets much worse. Much, much worse...You see, I am sitting in a chair in my living room but I am
not sitting like a normal 46 year old. Nope, I have a few throw pillows propped up behind me like
a grandmother. Why am I sitting in the dark like a Nana? Oh, that's an easy one to answer; as
if they cold/GI bug weren't enough misery for one person the cosmos thought it fit to strike
e down with another ailment. So about 22 hours ago I had just finished another round of
bathroom roulette, you know spin the wheel and see what end it comes out of. Oh, never played
that game? It is a fun one, I am thinking of going online and purchasing some Giardia bacteria
and making a ginger ale/sherbet punch with it, I think it would make an excellent party game.
Anyway, I am out of the bathroom and heading back to my quarantined spot on the couch. I am
about 2 steps away from my comfy cloister when I am hit with a coughing fit. I am coughing away
as I am clearing my airway I feel AND hear this god awful pop in my lower back. It feels like
what I would imagine being struck by lightning to feel like. I get this sharp, shooting, tingling
sensation through my whole body. It sounds like there are bees swarming in my head, I instantly
feel nauseous and I can't move. I am stuck in this contorted position, yet my whole body feels
numb. I swear to God as the lightening bolt coursed through my body I hear Freddie Mercury
belting out "thunderbolt and lightning, very, very frightening me..." I think I may have technically
died from the pain for a few seconds. "Bismillah! We will not let you go, let me go, we will not
let you go" On a side note, did any of you see Bohemian Rhapsody? Once you get past the over
the top mouth they made for Rami Malek it was amazing! I loved Queen when I was younger and
I remember sitting watching Live Aid hoping the rumors were true that Queen was reuniting.
Just like every time I watch the movie Selena, even though I already know the ending I was
hoping it would turn out differently. Rest in Peace Freddie. But as always, I digress. So after
my little cardiac interlude the pain sets in and I am shocked back into life. So there I was stuck
in the middle of the room. Then I sense something rising up from my toes, past my knees, over
my thighs, belly and into my throat and then the most guttural sound comes out of my mouth.
I can't even describe it. It is almost zombie-like, apocalyptic if you will. It takes a few moments
but then my kids come to see what that sound was. Was it one of the animals? Was our house
coming off its foundation? Was there an undead coming in through the chimney? The realization
that it is their mother, the one that gave them life, birthed them was in trouble. Did they come
over and help me? No. They gave me such a look of disgust and called into the basement for
Chuck. So it takes a minute for him to come up. Now he didn't take his time because he is an
ass. Our kids cry wolf so often he probably thought the major emergency they were summoning
him for involved removing a juice box straw from its plastic wrapper or something of similar
urgency; not his wife twitching in the middle of the room from some electrical malfunction within
her skeletal system. He helps get me back on the couch where I catch my breath. Emily comes
over to check in to see that I am OK. Once she has proof of life she then starts in with, I have
to say a pretty spot on imitation of me the moment whatever it was inside my spinal column popped.
She said, "mom you were making a weird noise and bent over and I didn't know if you were
pooping, farting or having a baby".
I hang out on the couch for the rest of the afternoon/evening and try everything in my power
not to move. The pain was unbelievable! Now, if you remember back a few paragraphs you will
remember I had just left the bathroom after a bout of the drizzly trots. I was terrified another
round was coming my way. Thankfully after a morning of the McSquirts the shoot was pretty
empty but as a precaution I kept my ass cheeks clenched as tight as Fort Knox, afraid a rogue
fart might cause a breach of epic proportions, kind of like if the Hoover Dam got a crack it would
flood the Grand Canyon, yeah, like that kind of epic proportions. The sounds that were rumbling
through my intestinal tract would have made the perfect sound track to a horror movie. Had I
been in the right state of mind I could have recorded them, sent them to Universal and profited
off of my misery for once. Oh well, opportunity wasted.
Since I had the stomach bug I was loading up on soup water, or as most people call it broth and
Popsicles so I had a lot of pee that needed to come out. I waited until I couldn't hold it anymore.
I knew it would be like a when you are out drinking and you "break the seal" then you are
committed to the bathroom in 15 minute intervals for the remainder of the evening. So I make it
onto the throne, albeit delicately. Well, as is well documented I have T-REX arms, shout out to
Susan for the amazing T-Rex necklace!! So T-Rex arms and the inability to move more than 2
centimeters in any direction had made the traditional female reach around, front to back wipe
virtually impossible. So if you are of the betting ilk I am odds on favorite for a UTI when all is
said and done. You could make a killing on the over/under of that one, if you do financially gain
from my misery can you at least spring for the co-pay on my antibiotics? Hey, with the insider
tip it is only fair. So now that wiping my ass is out I have had to resort to drastic measures.
Putting the theory of gravity to the test I have taken to wading up enormous balls of toilet paper
, I figure with the sheer volume Charmin placed gingerly in the general area something is bound
to be absorbed. I used to think Europeans were so pretentious with their bidets. I mean,
seriously they can't wipe their own asses? Oh how the mighty have fallen. I wonder if Amazon
sells bidets? Let me answer that for you; Prime can have a southern shower here by tomorrow.
Yeah, I checked, I'm not too proud to admit it. This is the first time I have cursed the fact
that neither Chuck or I inherited the hoarding gene. Had we not been minimalists I would have
no fewer than 3 peri bottles on hand, those are the plastic squirt bottles you get at the hospital
to keep your lady bits clean after you deliver a baby; AKA the poor man's bidet.
I did make my way from the couch to the recliner chair. Once I am up I can shuffle around the
house-straight lines are best, stairs and any type of bending are my enemy right now. I have
managed to kneel down and get essentials like my slippers. It is a process though. I have to keep
my back super straight and do a one knee dip/kneel kind of like a Catholic does when kneeling in
reverence in front of the altar. So with each dip I can't help myself, dip to get a slipper and in
my head I automatically say, "Body of Christ", kneel/dip to get a sock, "peace be with you"...you
get the idea. I am on the chair and Chuck comes home with pizzas. As much as the smell of
cheese and sauce is calling my name I am chair bound. I need them to bring the food to me.
Now, you might think this is somewhat glamorous like subjects bringing their queen grapes but
in all reality it is more like Honey Boo Boo bringing Mama June some 'Sketti'.
Getting out of bed this morning was a difficult task. It took 16 minutes from the time I started
until I cleared the side of the bed. I know because I timed it. At times I looked like the Grinch
slinking along the sides of the bed using my feet to push me along, other times I looked like
Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible trying to navigate under the laser wires. It was not a pretty
sight. 16 minutes and in the end I was a sweaty, painful mess.
My kids have been trying to take advantage of my situation and lobby for things they want.
"Mom, since you aren't puking anymore can we have the cousins over for New Year's Eve?"
"Mom, can I have my friend over, you don't need to get up from the chair"...they are trying to
wear me down. The older 2 have been campaigning hard for the past 24 hours to get another dog.
They have pulled out all the stops; typed up letter, made a whole marketing package including
flyers and a stop motion video. Way to kick me when I'm down. I mean I can't even effectively
wipe my own ass and you are barraging me with pictures of pugs? Not fair!! Tears are flowing,
doors are slamming but as of right now I have held my ground.
It is not only the kids that have been taking advantage. My cat Gracie has been less than
supportive this weekend. She will be 17 on Thursday. We are on borrowed time with her.
She is not well. Lately when I am watching TV she comes and lays on me. The way it usually
goes down is she comes and stands on my boobs, kind of like they are a shelf. Now with all my
faculties present I can gently nudge her down and she will tuck in and lay down on my belly.
Now with my faculties out the window she stands on me and there is nothing I can do about it.
I can't gently nudge her down. I have made a conscious decision that her last days will be filled
with nothing but love. I could roughly knock her off but that would go against my ideal of her
only feeling love from me in her final time. So now as I watch TV I can hear Chip and Jo-Jo
talking about the Silos but all I can see is Gracie about 5 centimeters away from my face. If
I am lucky she stands with her tail end close to my eyes so I can maneuver my face so I can look
at the screen under her tail, but then again that may not be so lucky after all. Gracie is a long
hair cat and in her old age her grooming habits have not been as fastidious so there may be a
dingle berry or 2 hanging from her ass.
Where did my life go so sideways that I am literally faced with a shitty cat ass in front of me
on New Year's Eve? I hope this isn't a metaphor for 2019? But then again, if this is how it is
going to play out maybe this won't be my last blog post after all! Happy New Year Everyone!!
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