It’s been characteristically busy since my last check in. That’s becoming routine so I’ve stopped feeling surprised by work demands and my overwhelming popularity. For now I’m going to skip over Beau’s first Thanksgiving turkey, cramming 6.5 people into our wee little condo, Nugget projectile crapping in my bedroom, the purchase of my very own wedding dress, and the solid 40 man-hours I’ve devoted to crafting in the past two weeks to update you on my digestive health. Again.
The Monday after Thanksgiving, I started having the same weird stomach pains I had back around Bologna’s baby shower this summer. I suffered through them for a few days before heading to the doctor who ordered blood work and other fun tests to screen for the lead suspect: an ulcer. While waiting for the results, she said to temporarily treat it like an ulcer and see if it got any better. No carbonation, no caffeine, no alcohol, no OTC pain medications. Pretty much no reason to live. I immediately began looking for pointy things to jab into my eyes.
Like 90% of red blooded Americans, I depend on caffeine to keep me going about my humdrum office life. Eliminating it resulted in a solid week of throbbing headaches, massive irritability, and mild retardation. Simple fifteen-minute tasks took an hour to complete as I tried to wrap my shriveled brain around arithmetic. I almost threw a computer at a coworker for walking too close to my desk. I couldn’t take my usual four Advil pills to counteract the epic migraine that was worse – I DO NOT SAY THIS LIGHTLY – than any hangover I’ve ever had, including the morning after Pleasure Island, the morning after St. Patty’s Day 2007, and that time I woke up in a tent in the bathroom. I was in the throes of caffeine withdrawal for seven days. That much was clear.
Sure enough, the stomach pains went away and though the tests did not reveal an ulcer, she said to continue treating it that way since it seemed to be working. How could I possibly have gotten a Ninja ulcer that hates on everything and hides from ultrasounds? The first person to suggest half a decade of the triple-punch of rumndietcokes which contain three of my delectably forbidden food groups will be eaten alive.
Bologna, who went through this ordeal in her mid-20s, advised me on the subject. Caffeine and carbonation are not a part of my future. Though I gnawed on the phone a bit when she told me that, really the worst was over. The headaches had subsided and I regained normal brain function. I still want to throw rotten fruit at my coworkers but at least Happy F left the company. That helps. And I can still drink alcohol in moderation (whatever the hell that means).
Unfortunately, as we usher out 2009, I will need to say goodbye to my long beloved rumndietcokes. In honor of them, friend, lover, soul mate, I present this tribute to be viewed while listening to “You Are The Wind Beneath My Wings.”
Farewell my little friend. I'll see you again at my bachelorette party.
1 comment:
I sort of thought for a fleeting moment that the title of this post was "defecation." Alas!
Post a Comment