Monday, June 02, 2014

I'm ready for my colonoscopy, Mr. DeMille

This post was written today, in regards to yesterday. Confused yet?

Day 4: Dysentery Day

I'm not sure what constitutes actual dysentery, but for the purposes of this blog we're gonna go ahead and self-diagnose this one. "Dysentery" sounds way sexier than "volatile diarrhea" anyway.

Not sure if it was the water, the fruit, the sun, all of the above, or something else, but holy loose bowels, Batman. I found myself running for the toilet multiple times. (I realize that's not why they call it "the runs," but it's another apt application of the term, I think.) I stopped counting at 8. Just when I thought I was all cleaned out, nope.

It was miserable. I stayed in bed most of the day, missing the beach and the pool. I sulked and pouted and got mad at M when one of his first comments was, "Are you really going to stay in here all day? Because they won't clean the room and we won't get new towels if you leave the Do Not Disturb sign on the door." If I could have inflicted him with gastrointestinal distress at that moment, I would have.

Wouldn't that be a great super power to have? Talk about felling your enemies quickly. I'm not sure what that costume would look like, though. Ew.

The worse thing about being laid up in your hotel room in the Dominican (besides the stomach issues and missing the beach and the pool and the fruity drinks) is that watching TV is pretty hard for an American who isn't fluent in Spanish. "Hemos matado a los alienigenas, mis amigos!" "Ya termino?" "Si!" "Espera. Que todavia estan vivos!"

After hours of no relief, I sent M out for help. In other words, I said, "Get Mom." My mother-in-law is a walking pharmacy-Girl Scout-best girlfriend. She is the quintessential mom who always has Kleenex, a rubber band, tweezers, a nail file, bandaids, and Advil at the ready. Her purse is like Mary Poppins' bag. I don't know how she fits everything in there, but she can pretty much pull out anything you might need at any given time. I bet she even has a hammer in there. She's kind of like a MacGyver Mom. Sure enough, Mom came for a visit and dispensed Immodium. Two doses did the trick and I was back on my feet in time for dinner. Mexican, no less, which is a true test of the stability of one's bowels. In the end, everything came out okay.

Wait, maybe that's not the greatest statement to wrap up this particular post.


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