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Friday, August 10, 2012

The Metamucil Wars, Pt 1

The battle cry sounded like a coffee percolator.

It started at my appendix and trickled sideways for a good five seconds. And then the march of a thousand tiny feet vibrated the walls of my intestines. My stomach was dropping acid like Jimi Hendrix's headband. A couple hits of Milk of Magnesia would put the fire out, get things back to normal. After all, I had places to go, things to eat.

The war was just beginning.

The days passed between foggy drives to work and deep slices of sleep. I was averaging 12+ hours of shuteye a day, getting a wink every time I lay down. No coffee, for days.

No coffee = caffeine withdrawal = F'ING HEADACHE.

I'm a grinder, too. I go to sleep, I smash my teeth like industrial-grade car compactors. I wake with 6" spikes in my skull.

In four days, I eat 2 bananas, a bowl of rice and an egg. The bananas are turds. All food is disgusting.

I self-diagnosis via Internet. Sounds like diverticulosis, or irritable bowel syndrome, or colitis, or gingivitis, or ruptured kidneys, or 1000 other things. I error on the side of general digestive malfunction, something that's triggered by the wrong food and controlled with diet. My wife thinks my pancreas has exploded.

Doctor sees me on day five.

I'm feeling closer to normal. Not eating, yet, but not sleeping like an over-medicated mental patient. Doc says since there's no blood in the evidence and no pain in lower portions when he presses with three fingers, probably not serious. Probably something like irritable bowel syndrome.

In pathology, syndrome means = we're not sure what causes it.

Here's what you do:

  • Take probiotics. Those are the good guys that will fight the battle FOR ME.
  • Increase soluble fiber. That means Metamucil. That means I'm offically 80 years old.
  • Time for the butt scope. We need to see what's in there. Just to be sure.

For now, all is quiet on the western front. Next week, there will be a camera inside me looking at the battleground.

To be continued.


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