OOPS! NOT AGAIN

OOPS! NOT AGAIN

… bowl or bucket … or both! …

)()()()()()()()()(

My husband looked at me as I walked very quickly to the bathroom.

“Again?” he asked.

“Yep, again.”

“How many times has this been today?”

“Depends on which end decided it needed to be emptied, but a grand total would probably be around eight,” I said as I kept walking.

“That sick again?” He looked worried.

“Yeah, same old; same old. You know me; I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

He sat on the edge of the tub and held my hair back. “I wish they’d found what’s going on and why this happens.”

I held up a finger indicating that I’d respond in a few seconds, which I did. “Hon, I’ve been like this all my life, and not one doctor has figured it out. I’m just tired of always having to carry a change of clothes and a few barf bags with me. It’s embarrassing. “

“I can’t even imagine but the upside is that other than this, and I hate to use the term affliction, you’re healthy. Plus, you’re lucky that our friends understand there is a problem and accommodate you whenever the need arises.”

“That’s so true; they couldn’t be better. Another upside is that our primary doctor has just referred a new gastroenterologist hoping that he might have some new idea about whatever this is that I have.”

Rich sensing that this wave of nausea was over, he stood and reached for the washcloth that we’d placed near the sink. After dampening it, brought it to me and gently wiped my face.

“Thanks, hon, “I said feeling better and being so appreciative of his attention.

“When are you supposed to see him, or is it a her?”

“It’s a him and my appointment is in four days. In the meantime, our primary has digitally sent him my file so he can review all the previous tests I’ve had. It would sure be nice to be able to not scope out the restroom as soon as we go anywhere.”

He chuckled a bit as he said, “And to not have to carry a port-a-potty, barf bags, and clean underwear every time you leave the house.”

“Yeah, that too.”

We left the bathroom and as soon as we entered the living room, I slumped onto the couch. “Why don’t you try and take a nap. After all this “running,” you’re probably exhausted.”

“Good idea,” I said as I nestled in the couch, surrounded by a few of the throw pillows. I raised the footrest, pulled the throw cover over me, and shut my eyes.

Within seconds, I threw the over to the side, jumped off the couch and said, “Here I go again!”

My husband said, “Should I ask with end?” To which I shouted from the bathroom, “I’m going to need a bucket, too.”

When I said I’d been like this all my life, I wasn’t being dramatic. I love pork chops, but they never liked me. I love scallops, but, like the port chops, I can only eat them on a very minimal basis. Beef is fine, as long as it isn’t greasy. Have I lost weight? Yes and no. I lost weight because I was tired of being fat, so with the doctor’s guidance, I began a diet. I never understood how, with the way my stomach acted, I could be fat in the first place. Heck! I almost made the Michelin Tire Man look thin. It took me two years but eventually, I lost forty pounds!! Finally!! But my stomach issues haven’t changed.

My husband stood outside the bathroom, “I was thinking, maybe you have food poisoning.”

“Hon, I thought about everything I’ve eaten in the past two days. We had the exact same food that I cooked! I didn’t eat anything else, so I’m sure we can rule out poisoning. Who knows, though? I could have some weird stomach bug.”

The on-and-off pain was more annoying than actually painful and didn’t last long.

Finally, my appointment with Dr. Kopp was within twenty-four hours.

“Feeling any better?” my husband asked.

“Just a bit weak with a brewing headache, but at least my bathroom dash episodes have subsided a bit.”

The following day, I sat in the exam room waiting for the doctor. My husband sat there with me, more anxious than I was to find out what was going on.

The doctor knocked as he opened the door and walked in.

“Good morning, Marie. Good morning, John.” He extended his hand to each of us, and we shook it.

“Marie, good news and well, it’s not bad news but it could be better. The good news is that” he smiled a sly, ghoulish grin, “you’re not pregnant! Sorry, I know your sense of humor and felt I just had to say that.”

I laughed along with him and replied, “If that had been your diagnosis, the next I’d do is as you to call Ripley’s Believe it or Not!”

“See, I said you had a good sense of humor. Now, back to your problem. First, let’s take the easy route. You recently had a skin biopsy. While the results showed no melanoma, the small incision has become infected. That’s what’s is causing your vomiting. I have samples of a strong antibiotic cream. Use it daily, changing your bandage every four hours. Secondly, the tests I had to put you through indicated irritable bowel syndrome and a few small intestinal ulcers. While the IBS can be a serious cause of annoyance, we can treat it and with meds, the ulcers should shrink and eventually disappear. I will however insist on another scan in two months.”

My husband and I were about to leave the doctor’s office breathing a sigh of relief, when suddenly, I spotted a door calling my name. I looked at my husband and said as I quickly walked toward the door, “Oops, not again!”