“You didn’t shit your pants did you?”
“NO, but close.”
Right, so last Thursday night I had just finished watching the first episode of Fringe I worked on, and was ready to spend a resplendent evening playing Virtua Fighter 5 on the XBox with my most loving husband when all of a sudden my dinner which wasn’t particularly healthy gave my stomach that not so nice grumbly get your ass to the toilet now cause it may explode feeling and I quickly obliged. What started as mild cramping in my abdomen was soon complimented with a back door tempest which erupted into pain so bad I starting moaning and groaning in donkey tongues.
Although I am known as a whiner, I blame that on the only child thing, I’m also known to have a pain tolerance that defies explanation. One example, the classic statistic I fell into when I broke my collarbone in THE COOK ISLANDS, apparently 2% of collarbone breakages end up in surgery, I ended up in surgery with mine, three months shy of it having been broken for an entire year.
Adam yelled over and asked if it could be menstrual cramps. No fuck no, menstrual cramps had nothing on this, this felt like my innards were being twisted into bows and balloon animals. But just to be sure I lifted up a drenched and dripping sweaty leg to see a bowl of blood. Fan-fucking-tastic. Having had a hemorrhoidectomy this was immediately bothersome but I had been on the can a while by this point and my ass wasn’t 100% sure what was going on because my contracting intestines were on some sort of long standing contract that only your worst enemy would take out on you to make me feel like hell.
The tempest cleared long enough for me to take 200 mg of Gravol and just hope that the contracting would stop and I’d get some sleep. When I woke up in the morning I still felt horrible, except now add drained and tired to that list. Even though I drank loads of water and had a decent sleep nothing was better, as soon as I sat down for my morning pee everything started up again but worse, because I didn’t have any food in my system and I was only drinking water. I did try to eat some tomato soup but that didn’t go too well and I threw it up in my mouth. We tried to get ahold of our doctor but they weren’t answering, so Adam walked over and explained my symptoms and he was told to take me up to the hospital. There was no way I could walk so I laid on the floor in the fetal position wondering how women have fucking babies, while Adam got ahold of a cab which I wasn’t sure about either because I thought for sure I was gonna barf any second.
The downtown hospital is a joyous place, it is one of those you only go to if you REALLY have to, this was my second trip into emerge there, granted this one wasn’t a self inflicted driven right to the door by the ambulance bill ya later kind.
Check in complete. Enter emergency waiting room, or a loose version of what at first sight appears to be a psych ward. Before I am through with my visit I will be privy to a ranting yet 90 days sober drug addict being taunted by a man claiming to be bipolar in cuffs whilst insulting the cops and making everyone in the waiting room uncomfortable to say the very least.
But, back to me, I was supposed to give them a urine sample basically right upon arrival. 
Always one to appreciate the little things, I was extremely excited about the innovation in giving urine samples, the funnel on top of the regular looking container with the lid and a nice little hand-wipe all in a sterile bag just for me. I went on to explain to Adam that this funnel was such a fantastic advancement that I couldn’t even believe it, why had no one done it sooner?
I proceed to sample my urine, all the while thinking how great this funnel is when suddenly it catches on the edge of my track pants and falls straight down into my underpants, drenching my pant leg in pee and part of my shoe as I watch a puddle of pee form on the floor next to my foot. I burst into tears. Are you kidding me? Is this for real? The waiting room is basically full, I thought the funnel was fantastic and now I want to murder it. I clean up the best I can covered in soaking wet pee and find the positive of the whole ordeal to be the track pants I’m wearing are navy blue fake velour rendering the wet spots less obvious — although this did nothing to help with the icky feeling I had with the cold material drying against my leg. “Do I smell like urine?”, I whispered to Adam as I started swigging from the water bottle so that I can get my pee on again.
I got in with the doctor relatively quickly, and felt like a super star explaining why I had no urine sample. This lovely visit confirmed something I have known all along, that my hemorrhoidectomy had not taken. I had The Rhoids again, internal and external for extra measure, if I only had a dollar for every doctor in the city who has had their finger up my ass I’d be comfortable. Not rich, not yet anyway, but comfortable. After another urine sample I didn’t botch and some blood work they let me go home saying I simply had a nasty viral attack on my intestines causing the back end tempest and at the moment still contracting intestines. I was told to make an appointment with my GP, take it easy and rest, back to solids slowly and lots of fluids.
What a way to kill a day and a half. I’d love to say I’m 100% better, but my energy is still really low with an even bigger interruption to my already lacking food intake and this was about the last thing I needed because I’ve already been bitching about losing too much weight since the stress hit in January. My intestines were contracting for a long bloody time because I am still in discomfort today, so I am resting and trying not to laugh a lot which isn’t too hard, unless of course I let myself think about how awesome it was to walk around with my bottom half covered in my own piss for half a day. That pretty much made the visit, the guy in cuffs had nothing on that.
