Surviving in the Trenches...
After being hit with the intestinal tornado I am hunkered down in my apartment trying to do everything in my power to help my immune system do battle with the bug that has invaded my body. I have dug in, sent out for supplies and equipped my troops with everything I can think of...
I am Immodiumed and Pepto-Bismoled up the ying-yang - a phrase for once both figurative and literal. So much Pepto-Bismol that I was kind of surprised that I am not crapping out perfect little pink marshmallow shaped turds. In honour of the Pepto Brigade, I have decided to run their colours up my flag! And just what is so fascinating about a bowel-movement by the way, that compells us to turn around and check the bowl? Pride at the achievement? Some kind of sick curiousity? Horror about what lurks within?
I am on a diet so pure and bland it makes me want to weep, but more importantly not throw up, not an unimportant consideration. My appetite has gone AWOL in the face of this attack, but I have mustered up the necessary resolve to ingest a bare minimum of nutrients to counter-attack the depletions ravaged upon my body by incessant vomiting and diarrhea (one "r" or two?).
I will confess to being a terrible patient. I am already cranky and miserable at the best of times, and being sick does not bring out the best in me. The only thing rising to the occasion is my gorge. But then again, who likes being sick? Me, I'm sort of like the old dawg who just to wants to crawl under the front porch and die. But after the umpteenth trip to the porcelain throne, I have gone from that place where you hope you're not going to die, to thinking it might not be so bad after all, especially with all those fluffy white clouds and a pair of fancy wings waiting for you. Or conversely, if you want to consider all the possibilities, at least being warm all the time. And how could Hell possibly be any worse than rush hour traffic or reading a book supposedly written by John Stanton?
Back to the War. My Allies have rallied to my side. Upon cancelling a series of meetings - and the damn Blog is a little like my daily smoke signal - once the news got out I had friends offering to protect my supply lines and I soon had a stream of convoys in place to the drugstore and supermarket. Saints and angels all...
A lovely Pharmacist even recommended Gatorade, a use for the product which I had never considered before but which made perfect sense. Puking and marathoning - it's all about the electrolytes. My two favorite foods have become the most expensive yogurt that money can buy - my God, is this stuff made by vestal virgins using golden cooking utensils? - and vanilla puddings packs, a product which I can not remember having sampled in about three decades. Seemed a little extravagant to order out for Creme Brulee though...
My sole movements in almost forty-eight hours have been bed, couch, toilet, bed, couch, toilet, bed, couch, toilet, literally ad nauseum... My few ventures outside have been fraught with terror, always wondering where the nearest rest room can be located. I shuffle along like an old pensioner, using what little strength I have left to maintain some kind of feeble control on my sphincter muscles...
My body is slowly retracting into a kind of pathetic permanent fetal position. I ache in every bone and joint, especially my hip joints and my back, but it does feel as if the worst is over. The tide of the battle may finally have turned. The only problem is that I now have the strength of the weakest kitten in the litter...
Boy, Yippee!, I want to rush out and run a marathon this weekend!!!!
I am Immodiumed and Pepto-Bismoled up the ying-yang - a phrase for once both figurative and literal. So much Pepto-Bismol that I was kind of surprised that I am not crapping out perfect little pink marshmallow shaped turds. In honour of the Pepto Brigade, I have decided to run their colours up my flag! And just what is so fascinating about a bowel-movement by the way, that compells us to turn around and check the bowl? Pride at the achievement? Some kind of sick curiousity? Horror about what lurks within?
I am on a diet so pure and bland it makes me want to weep, but more importantly not throw up, not an unimportant consideration. My appetite has gone AWOL in the face of this attack, but I have mustered up the necessary resolve to ingest a bare minimum of nutrients to counter-attack the depletions ravaged upon my body by incessant vomiting and diarrhea (one "r" or two?).
I will confess to being a terrible patient. I am already cranky and miserable at the best of times, and being sick does not bring out the best in me. The only thing rising to the occasion is my gorge. But then again, who likes being sick? Me, I'm sort of like the old dawg who just to wants to crawl under the front porch and die. But after the umpteenth trip to the porcelain throne, I have gone from that place where you hope you're not going to die, to thinking it might not be so bad after all, especially with all those fluffy white clouds and a pair of fancy wings waiting for you. Or conversely, if you want to consider all the possibilities, at least being warm all the time. And how could Hell possibly be any worse than rush hour traffic or reading a book supposedly written by John Stanton?
Back to the War. My Allies have rallied to my side. Upon cancelling a series of meetings - and the damn Blog is a little like my daily smoke signal - once the news got out I had friends offering to protect my supply lines and I soon had a stream of convoys in place to the drugstore and supermarket. Saints and angels all...
A lovely Pharmacist even recommended Gatorade, a use for the product which I had never considered before but which made perfect sense. Puking and marathoning - it's all about the electrolytes. My two favorite foods have become the most expensive yogurt that money can buy - my God, is this stuff made by vestal virgins using golden cooking utensils? - and vanilla puddings packs, a product which I can not remember having sampled in about three decades. Seemed a little extravagant to order out for Creme Brulee though...
My sole movements in almost forty-eight hours have been bed, couch, toilet, bed, couch, toilet, bed, couch, toilet, literally ad nauseum... My few ventures outside have been fraught with terror, always wondering where the nearest rest room can be located. I shuffle along like an old pensioner, using what little strength I have left to maintain some kind of feeble control on my sphincter muscles...
My body is slowly retracting into a kind of pathetic permanent fetal position. I ache in every bone and joint, especially my hip joints and my back, but it does feel as if the worst is over. The tide of the battle may finally have turned. The only problem is that I now have the strength of the weakest kitten in the litter...
Boy, Yippee!, I want to rush out and run a marathon this weekend!!!!
posted by Vince Hemingson at 7:50 AM
2 Comments:
Vince,
Feel better! I hope the misery will end soon. Oh, an "You've Got Mail!"
Wayne
My sympathy is with you. 2 years ago the week before a race I had the exact same thing not fun. Besides gatorade and yogurt, the doctor told me to try and drink protien drinks if I could stomach them and eat plain rice. The plain rice helped alot I think it absorbed all the stomach acid and thus helped with the nausea. I got to the race and while it was not my best showing it was not my worst. I survived I just felt drained around half way so I took a lot more gels then I would have normally. On the plus side my legs felt great! Here is hoping you are over the hump and on the road to recovery.
Cyber hug
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