I Am A Flatulent Mess
Whatever disease hit me yesterday seems to have, for the most part, resolved. I spent the bulk of my Tuesday doubled over by abdominal cramps that rivaled childbirth. I was so bloated (see "abdominal distention") I couldn't even zip my pants, let alone button them. And the ED began around 1 pm. (In this case, ED doesn't stand for Bob Dole's erectile dysfunction, it stands for Mitzi Green's Explosive Diarrhea. Hey, no holds barred here. My readers get the full Monty.)
I managed to make it til 5, when I dragged my sorry ass home. Ben and Bob had already eaten (something I had no desire to do myself), so I changed into my Enormous Delightful Pants and took my place on the sofa. Fever was confirmed. I'm not even sure what time Ben left for work, but he told Bob before he left that "Mommy isn't feeling well, she's sick, so you really need to be nice to her and do everything she says." And he did, including "lay down here next to me and keep me warm." Bless his heart.
We went to bed after Ben got home (around 11:00), but I was pretty out of it before then. I barely recall going to bed. The next thing I knew it was 7 a.m. I feel better this morning, but my guts still aren't happy. No further incidences of ED, but I'm still pretty bloated and man, have I got some major gas going on. The weirdest part? No smell. I'm serious. None. And let me assure you, most of the time, I can clear a room.
So what the hell? I'm suddenly filled with odorless, colorless gas? What the fuck am I, the Goodyear Girl? Yes, I'm grateful to not feel like crap anymore, I just don't really want to feel like the Michelin man, either.
Anyway...
The psych office put Bob on Ritalin yesterday, in addition to the Zoloft he's already taking. I don't know what--if any--effect it will have on him. I have to admit I'm not optimistic. I met with his old therapist this morning (we're reinstating therapy next week) and she said "I know you sometimes think of the medication as a stigma," and I had to correct her, that's just not it. If Bob had a sore throat, we could give him a test and say either "no, it's not strep" or "yes, it is strep" and act accordingly. In this case, no one can pinpoint what the fuck is wrong with Bob, so we're playing Drug Roulette. And that's scary shit, because who knows what the long-term affect of this little game will be?
So...I'm going to try to go to the gym tonight. Maybe take Bob swimming, if he has a good day. Maybe just go kick some elliptical ass, if he doesn't. Hopefully I won't fart the whole time I'm there.
I managed to make it til 5, when I dragged my sorry ass home. Ben and Bob had already eaten (something I had no desire to do myself), so I changed into my Enormous Delightful Pants and took my place on the sofa. Fever was confirmed. I'm not even sure what time Ben left for work, but he told Bob before he left that "Mommy isn't feeling well, she's sick, so you really need to be nice to her and do everything she says." And he did, including "lay down here next to me and keep me warm." Bless his heart.
We went to bed after Ben got home (around 11:00), but I was pretty out of it before then. I barely recall going to bed. The next thing I knew it was 7 a.m. I feel better this morning, but my guts still aren't happy. No further incidences of ED, but I'm still pretty bloated and man, have I got some major gas going on. The weirdest part? No smell. I'm serious. None. And let me assure you, most of the time, I can clear a room.
So what the hell? I'm suddenly filled with odorless, colorless gas? What the fuck am I, the Goodyear Girl? Yes, I'm grateful to not feel like crap anymore, I just don't really want to feel like the Michelin man, either.
Anyway...
The psych office put Bob on Ritalin yesterday, in addition to the Zoloft he's already taking. I don't know what--if any--effect it will have on him. I have to admit I'm not optimistic. I met with his old therapist this morning (we're reinstating therapy next week) and she said "I know you sometimes think of the medication as a stigma," and I had to correct her, that's just not it. If Bob had a sore throat, we could give him a test and say either "no, it's not strep" or "yes, it is strep" and act accordingly. In this case, no one can pinpoint what the fuck is wrong with Bob, so we're playing Drug Roulette. And that's scary shit, because who knows what the long-term affect of this little game will be?
So...I'm going to try to go to the gym tonight. Maybe take Bob swimming, if he has a good day. Maybe just go kick some elliptical ass, if he doesn't. Hopefully I won't fart the whole time I'm there.
posted by Mitzi Green at 12:49 PM
4 Comments:
Sorry about your gassy ass. Try some GasX or something. It probably doesn't smell because you haven't eaten anything and your bowels have been cleared out by the explosive diarrhea.
Ew. Try not to hurt anyone at the gym. :P
I'm sorry, but I just can't stop laughing.
Between the title and your post, I am dying.
I've been reading your blog for awhile, keeping up with you story, and I have no idea how to make my first comment without coming off as terribly creepy and stalker-ish. (I suppose some comment could be made about the voyeuristic aspects of blogging, but not with enough irony for my taste.)
Anyhow, my random buttinsky comment is as follows: Has anyone evr considered a diagnosis of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder for Bob? I know you've been taking him to plenty of health care professionals, and it seems unlikely that they would have overlooked something so obvious, but almost every time I read about your frustration with the seemingly random mood swings, violent outbursts, and his sensitivity to the moods of the adults around him, I can't help but think "PTSD."
I'm not a professional by any means, and please don't pay me any mind if you've already ruled it out or if it brings up some really uncomfortable history.
Also, I love your blog and your sense of humor! I hope things go better for you this year.
Go to MSNBC.com, click on Nightly News. There's a video story about the nasty stomach flu that's going around, that's not really a flu, but a bad virus
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