Barking Mad

How to Kick Your Coke . . .a'Cola Habit in ONE EASY STEP!

Get the stomach flu.

Not just any stomach flu mind you.  No, this has to be the mother, the mack daddy, the big pimpin, the-end-of-the-world-is-nigh-break-out-your-Armageddon-panties, nuclear powered stomach flu!

I'm talking the kind where you're so sick that you're rocking back and forth, crying, and foaming at the mouth while your wonderful husband is running like his life depended on it, looking for something to hold under your face because he knows you will not make it to the bathroom.

I'm talking about the kind of stomach flu where things are not only shooting out of your upper digestive system at  speeds that rivals an F15 Eagle (which is mach 2.5+, just so ya know!), but the velocity at which bodily fluids are blasting out of your ass makes a fire hydrant seem like a drip!

I'm talking about the kind of stomach flu where the initial pre-vomit and subsequent waves of nausea wash over you, making you feel like you need not only a flotation device to stay atop them, but some as-yet-to-be-discovered-invented anti-nausea medication for elephants, just to get a grip on the misery. 

Then, when you realize there is absolutely nothing left in your body, nay - not even enough moisture for a lone little tear drop with which to belay your absolute pathetic state to your husband, you're whisked away to the emergency room where they find you as dehydrated as a WalMart sponge left in the Sahara Desert at high noon in the middle of July.  You're so thirsty you're willing to suck the condensation off of the inside of the car windows on your way to the ER, if only you could keep it down.

You realize that you're so dehydrated that you're skin is peeling off in sheets large enough to type an entire economics dissertation on!     You beg the ER nurse to let you guzzle the contents of the IV bag, and possibly that of the person in the next room, yet still, she insists on hydrating you through a vein in your arm.   That is, after she finds one, which takes her several tries because your veins are in hiding and refuse to come out and play.

Once you're fairly certain you're not going to die of dehydration, you're painfully aware of another burning problem coming from the artist formerly known as your ass.    Whatever deadly virus you contracted that caused bodily fluids to launch from your bottom at a speed that would make Danica Patrick look twice (why she'd be looking at your ass is anyone's guess!), has also made your round, bright, red, rear feel like it's been kicked, whipped and then for good measure, branded.  My mother helpfully texted me with the suggestion to pick up some "Tuck's Medicated" pads or some "Preparation H."   I weakly replied back, "Screw that!  I want an epidural!"

That m'dears is how sick I was.

That m'dears is what it took to make me dry heave at the mere scent of Coca Cola.

That m'dears hopefully means I am done with that shit once and for all!  

Famous last words and all.

Seriously...Saturday, I wasn't feeling so great.   I didn't eat much at all.   Sunday morning I felt awful.  Woke up with a horrible stomach ache and was a bit nauseated.  Plus I had a miserable headache.   I hadn't had a Coke in two or three days and I thought perhaps the headache and nausea had something to do with caffeine/sugar withdrawal.   Being that we were supposed to go to the Y and go swimming, I decided to have about 5 ounces of a cold Coke to see if I felt any better.  I didn't feel like eating anything at all. 

The Coke sort of helped with the nausea but still left me feeling a bit wobbly.   We went swimming and by the time I did my fifth lap I cried Uncle.   I told Gareth I was going to go sit in the hot tub for a while and after ten minutes in the hot tub I wanted to lay down and die.   My stomach hurt, my head hurt again, and I felt achy and really crappy.  Not only that, but I kept having "Coke burps."   Terribly unpleasant! 

We stopped at the store on the way home from the Y and I asked Gareth to see if he could pick up a cold ginger ale for me, thinking it might help calm my stomach.    I had a few sips and found the sweetness was too much.   

By the time we got home my entire body was aching, my head pounding, and the diarrhea had started.   By the time I finally got into bed, the waves of nausea washing over me were constant.  I was sitting on the edge of the bed, hanging on for dear life because I knew what was coming.  Gareth took one look at my face then literally ran and grabbed a tupperware bowl and sat there while my entire upper digestive system flung it's contents into the bowl.  I'm pretty sure I saw my esophagus and tonsils come up as well.

My darling husband didn't gag once, held my hair back and was as gentle as a lamb, but still as manly as anything I've ever seen.  Even amidst the really ugly dry heaves, during which I'm pretty sure I broke a rib, or four.

A lot of what I vomited was that Coke and the ginger ale.  As a result, I don't ever ever ever want another one of either.   Of course, immediately after the worst of initial vomiting was over, I was struck with a total sense of euphoria and I felt better than I had in years!  I was ready to order a T-bone steak with all the trimmings...for about 60 seconds.   And then I ran for the bathroom and hung on for dear life in hopes that whatever was coming out of me so fast and with so much fury, was not going to launch me entirely off of the toilet and into my neighbor's back garden!

I always think it's a little amusing, how, right after you're sick, you feel really good for a few minutes, and then, once that feeling passes, you're right back in the trenches of viral warfare, battling the evil green meanies (well that's how I picture the "vomit virals" anyhow - I even picture them having outrageous cartoon mustaches like the villians from the roaring '20's!).   Gareth looked at me once I was able to lift my face out of the tupperware bowl and I believe I might even have smiled, a gruesome, slimy post-vomit smile at him.  I hate to throw up.  HATE IT!  I'm terrified of it.  Yet once it was over and done with I was just so glad to finally have it out of my system.   Of course, like I said earlier, that feeling didn't last.   I did throw up a few more times later that night and into the next day, but nothing like the initial declaration of war that my body threw in my face. 

Thankfully, the worst of it's over.  I still feel a bit like I've been run over by a herd of rabid toddlers and then pelted with gigantic Legos for good measure.   The worst is over.   The "Vomit Virals" and their nasty mustached gang have left the building.  I sure as hell hope so anyhow!  I'm pretty sure I'm no where near well enough to hold the bucket so-to-speak if Gareth comes down with the manly-man version of this.   If he comes down with it (Gaby's already had it), I'm pretty sure I'm calling the in folks in the bright yellow HazMat jumpsuits to deal with this!

When all is said and done, I don't recommend this sort of intervention if you have a wicked Coca Cola habit.  

But...if you really wanna kick it, I'm just sayin'!

 

Things You're Not Likely to Ever Find on Store Shelves in the State of New York!

After reading this post, you might come to the same conclusion that I have...living inside a hermetically sealed bubble isn't such a bad idea.  As long as there is an internet connection.  And Starbucks.  And icy cold Coca Cola.

I think my strong aversion to anything that belongs in the insect family has been well-documented out here over the past few years.  Lately I've been moaning to almost anyone who will listen, that I live in the Tick Belt of the USA.  We have the Bible Belt, the Beer Belt, the BMW Belt (Beverly Hills!)...and here in this part of upstate New York, we have the Tick Belt.   I constantly fear finding one of those nasty little buggers on my body somewhere.  Engorged after sucking nearly all of my lifeblood out of me, all the while transmitting Lyme Disease to me.  Hell, one of my closest friends was recently diagnosed with Lyme Disease.  She thinks it's funny that I obsess about it, yet she's constantly telling me about all the places around here where you will definitely end up with a tick, or five, if you decide to walk through that area.

Now, you might not believe this, but I am actually learning to enjoy my life around here.  When I'm not thinking about the ticks.  The ticks that want to latch onto me, or my husband, or my beautiful curly-haired daughter, and drain us dry.   No, seriously, aside from the ticks, things are getting better.   This is New York after all.   The Big Apple is less than a 3-hour drive away.  Sleepy Hollow is less than a 2-hour drive away.  There are the Adirondacks, Lake Placid, and Vermont is maybe an hour away at the most.  Besides, I'm only a quick 4-hour 5-hour drive away from my beloved Maine!   And best of all, we have close friends nearby who we love and would be utterly lost without.  

And things could always be worse!  I could always live in Las Vegas, where my sister, Diana, does.  I'd have to deal with things like this, the Vegas Flea, that she's dealing with on a daily basis!  These suckers grow up to SIX INCHES LONG and can be as wide as TWO INCHES ACROSS!

This is an actual photo of one that was on her driveway after having bounced off of her shoulder.

I'm pretty sure I'd have to be medicated and possibly hospitalized if something like a Vegas Flea landed on me, let alone anywhere near me! 

I'm so grateful that not only do we not have anything like that monster living in New York, that while I'm strolling through the aisles of my local Home Depot, I don't have to mentally remind myself that I need products like these, which are a staple at Home Depot in Vegas...

Yes m'dears, that is a Scorpion Light.  That helps you find what households in Vegas consider a "common household pest" (what the hell?), like we might consider nuisance house-ants out here!  So, once you've found the scorpion using your handy-dandy little Scorpion Master (I really want the guy, Vince,  who does the Slap Chop and Sham Wow commercials to do one for the Scorpion Master!), then you're ready for the next step in pesky scorpion eradication!

Scorpion Killer!  It kills on contact and hey, it keeps on killing for 6-weeks!!!!  Just be sure to keep Rover and Snowball away from it, otherwise, you're likely to be rid of more than just those pesky scorpions!

But don't stop there!  Why not pick up a convenient half-gallon of Snake Repellent while you're at it?  You can never have too much Snake Repellent on hand...especially in Vegas.  Hey, I bet you could even put some of that in a little spray bottle the next time you're vacationing on the strip, and tuck it inside your purse and use it on all those sleazy slime-balls that try to hit on you while you're pumping pennies into the slots!   Oh, what's that?  It's not for those kind of snakes.  Well, maybe Vince will come up with something for that particular pest!

While I'm still not convinced that the ticks aren't out to get me, I'm thanking The Powers That Be that Gareth was not offered a job in Las Vegas and that the Scorpion Master (which I'm sure some goober out there is going to mention sounds like a great title for a  S&M porn flick!) and Snake Repellent aren't something we're ever likely to find on the shelves of our local stores here in New York!

 

My Life for the Next 30 Days

Let's remove, from this equation, the fact that we're moving, that I have a massive dissertation due to the IRS (OK it's not really a dissertation, but for all intents and purposes, it sure feels like one.  Oh and remind me to tell you, the IRS thinks I'm funny!  No really, they do!), and that I have a freshly herniated disc in my back ("Bend vit you knees, You be bending vit you back ven lift da heavy box and and you get bulging disc! Ven you bend, BEND VIT YOU KNEES!  That was my nurse, ripping me a new one about, can we all say it together, "BEND VIT YOU KNEES!") .  No biggie, right?

Well, the Zombie Hands of Doom - the Sequel: "Oozing Green Fingers of Destruction" hit my personal screen, and life once again came to a screeching halt.   Stress tends to cause flares of my chronic eczema and the move combined with a couple of other minor issues have caused a flare so epic that I'm pretty sure living life with a hook in place of my right hand would be more pleasant than what I'm dealing with now.  

Take for instance this photo of my thumb. 

I took it last night after they debrided out the raging infection in all the fingers in my right hand. The huge, red, angry spot in the middle?  That was completely swollen to the size of a small grape and filled with...well, filled with YUCK!   I saved the really gross pictures because I don't want to be responsible for any episodes of mass vomiting.  Yeah, they were that bad.  And the scary thing is, they went from "Early flare" to "Massive infection -  CODE RED!!!!" in less than 24 hours.  Scary stuff.   So back to the doctor I went, pretty much stressed to the hilt and completely at the end of my rope with my hands, my back, and life in general.

Anyhow, to make a long story short, in or my case, as short as I can humanly make it which really isn't very short because we all know that I'm a chronic over-sharer who was blessed with an active "verbosity gene" and is also fond of run-on-sentences.  Not only did I get a new asshole ripped last night by Nurse Helga, I was loaded up with so many drugs that I'm not feeling much of anything today...except, oddly better for some reason. 

Instructions from Nurse Helga that I wanted to laugh at, but didn't because I value my body (minus the fat) in it's current configuration:

"You vill not be lifting anythink at all until you get the machining (I later found out she meant MRI) for you back. NO LIFTING. NOTINK!  Dat liftink make you back much vorse!"

"You vill not be vashingk you hands unless you haf a vowel moofment.  Vater not goot for bad hands."

"You vill be taking lots of many pills.   Here haf  da sheet dat tell you how to take the many pills!"

She was not kidding when she told me I would taking "lots of many pills!"

I'd already taken the huge horse pill antibiotic.   Besides, there's already a photo of that ugly thing in the post above, that I linked to. 

They tripled my Prednisone, put me on TWO ANTIBIOTICS - the horse pill has made a reappearance as well as a uber-smelly Rx for Keflex.  You've not lived till you've burped after taking one of those!  That'll clear the room faster than the aftermath of giving Rover a can of beans!

I'm loading myself up with as much yogurt as I possibly can.  We women know the lovely side-effects of massive dosages of antibiotics.  That is something I can not deal with gracefully.  So I'm trying to head that off at the pass if at all possible.  Can I just tell you that Oikos Vanilla Greek Yogurt is wonderful!  So yummy! 

They also gave me a topical steroid cream that sounds curiously like Cyanide.  It's not.  The name just sounds like it.    Then the nice doctor lady gave me more Xanax and the nurse told me the following:

"You needing more Xanak to calm you nerves.  You vill take dis.  Dere nothink wrong vit takink da medicine.  You too crazy anxiety.  Dis make you calm down and den make you hands calm down.  You vill like it. You have 5 year old, no?  Yes, you vill like the Xanak!"

The long and short of it all is that the dosage of Prednisone I'm going to be on for the next 30 days is sort of insane.   I've done the Prednisone Shuffle before but this is just...well, nuts. 

I have to take 6 pills twice a day for 5 days and then 3 once a day for 25 days.   Here comes the 'roid rage and Prednisone pig outs.  That?  I've dealt with that before.  Yes, I am concerned about gaining weight, but I'm also concerned about a lovely little side effect called "Hirsuitism"...just what I need right now. ..to walk around looking like The Wolfman's long lost sister.    No wonder Nurse Helga imparted upon me that the newer dosage of Xanax was so important.  I'm going to have a freaking heartastroke if I wake up and immediately need to shave my face!   Oh yeah, I was stupid and went out and Googled the side effects of massive dosages of Prednisone.  I saw a photo of a lady that could have been Michael J. Fox's stunt double in "Teen Wolf"!

**********

Hirsuitism be damned!  I woke up this morning feeling not-so-bad.  My hands are still a mess but the swelling seems to be going down.  My back, amazingly isn't the agonizing tear-inducing hell that it's been.  I was told that the Prednisone might help reduce the swelling around the herniated disc.  Score! 

And I was a good girl and took the Xanax and ya know?  I'm going to FINALLY stop beating myself up for needing a little help from that stuff.   I don't feel nearly as panicked or like I'm literally at the end of my rope.   I'm attacking the packing that I can do ("You not be liftink anythink!") and dealing with things, for once, without having a nervous breakdown in the process.   Yes, I still have a ton of work ahead of me when it comes to dealing with the things that stress me rather than letting the stress deal with me.  But ya know, big deal!  I'm taking Xanax.  It's not the end of the world and I need to stop acting like I should be Super Woman.  It's OK.  Really it is.  It's finally starting to sink in the I'm not inferior because I need a little pharmaceutical help.

Well OK, and it doesn't hurt that a little sugar helps the medicine go down!   Alright alright....in this case, a lot of sugar, in the form of imported Mexican Coca Cola!   Love the stuff.  I have one a day.  NO HFCS in it and it tastes the way a real genuine Coca Cola should taste.  And for now,  I'm not going to beat myself up about it...or the lovely white glove I have to wear for the next 30 days.  Small children every where will thank me...the sight of that hand is not pretty!  Hell, maybe I'll bedazzle it (I have several of them actually!  I could get really silly with some of them!) and learn to do the moon-walk!

My life for the next 30 days?   It's gonna be OK.   If I have anything to say about it, it will be more than just OK...it will be great!  On that note, I'm off to have a Coke and a smile and get on with the rest of my day!