That Was.....Interesting

I kind of forgot that I hadn't blogged since Tuesday. To be honest, I've been enjoying being at home nights, having time to myself, getting some things around the house done.

I'm sure you'll all be happy to know that I am officially Olympicsed out. I've endured the White people's portion of the Games, I've endured the Black people's portion. I've endured the pompous anchors and the commentators using phrases like "he blows all his breath out of those Midwestern lungs." I've come to accept that I'm never going to get to see a horse, and I've also come to accept that I'll never see Kerri Walsh's buttcheeks again.

We're at the point now where all were seeing is barrel scrapings. Whatever's left over. Not only sports-wise (the dreaded rhythmic gymnastics), but invasive human interest story-wise as well. This is evidenced by the fact that NBC actually re-ran one of their human interest stories. It showed up the first time during the women's marathon. And it was a good story, about how hard some women in other countries have it trying to compete. But damn, did they have to show it again Wednesday night? Are they that hard up for human interest in these games?

Anyway, my Olympic visitor has overstayed his welcome in my living room. I won't be sorry to see him leave.
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I had a most most interesting occurrence today.

As some of you may or may not know, I have had a new little pouch created in my stomach. Pouchy, I call him, being the imaginative creature that I am. One of the features of this little fella is that if I eat too much - and that means one little bite more than I'm supposed to - I'm likely to get violently ill. Not just throwing up, like when a meal doesn't agree with me. Pain in my chest, pressure, not being able to breathe. Even if the offending food is thrown up, all those symptoms will remain until, well, until they're damn well ready to leave. Although I've been sick from food not agreeing with me quite a few times, I've only been sick from overloading once.

Well, until today.

I woke up this morning with a blinding headache. That's odd, because since my surgery two things I just don't seem to have anymore are headaches and heartburn.

I endured it for a while, then broke down and tried some Tylenol, knowing full well it wouldn't work, because my body probably wouldn't absorb it. But maybe it did, because by about 2pm I seemed to be feeling a little better.

This afternoon at work was one of those afternoons I love. It was Friday, we weren't the least bit busy, the big season-opener high school football game is tonight, everyone was happy, and so basically we all just sat around and loafed and talked and laughed ourselves silly and had a good time.

And for some reason, I was unusually thirsty.

Now, as a side story, I generally try to drink two bottles of water between the time I come back from lunch and the time I leave work, in an effort to get in the 64 oz of liquids I'm supposed to consume each and every day but seldom do. But today it was easy - I wanted that water.

What I didn't really notice, though, was the alarming speed with which I was drinking the water. First one bottle, then two bottles, then 2/3 of a third bottle. Even my friend Sandy commented on how I was putting it away. Good, I thought, I'll saturate my body with the stuff.

Round about 4:30 I started doing the end of day deposit. And about halfway through, the nausea began. And when I say nausea, well, I thought I was gonna die.

I dropped all my checks, deposit slips, and the like and ran to the restroom. And you know how when you're getting ready to puke your guts out you have that hot drool that comes out of your mouth? Well, I had that in spades. But guess what - there was nothing on my stomach! I'd eaten hours ago. So I was basically just drooling hot spit into the toilet for 10 minutes. I knew it was fruitless, so I got up and went back to the office.

And that's when the pain began.

My chest felt like someone had made me swallow a rock. I tried to breathe my way through to the end of the deposit so we could get the hell out of the office and on with the weekend. Which we did.

I took the deposit to the drive-thru at the bank, then pulled out onto the road and got stuck in a line of traffic at the red light - and it all started again! The nausea, the hot drool (I found a stray paper towel in the podmobile to mop it off me with), the pressure, pain, not being able to breathe. I don't know how I made it home, but I got there, and headed to the toilet again, only to get the same thing. Hot drool.

This went on till about 6:30, when finally a trip to the bathroom produced results. Well, wait. What exactly do you consider results. I did start to heave and retch, and, of course, nothing came up because nothing was there to come up, but at least I was going through the motions of throwing up.

Which for some reason helped. But now my throat is so sore I can't swallow, and I feel like I've been kickboxed in the ribs, from all the heaving and retching.

However, all's well that ends well. Tonight, Lifetime showed my very favorite teenage lesbian TV movie, "The Truth About Jane."

Betland's Olympic Update:
* An Austrian woman came out of nowhere to beat the Australian favorite and win the gold medal in the women's triathalon. Who cares. I'm waiting for Beijing 2008 when we'll be watching Stennie and Kriz in the women's triathalon.
* This Paul Hamm medal thing is really getting old. He needs to call a press conference and announce, ala Charlton Heston, they can have his gold medal when they pry it from his cold dead hand. Or else just give them all the finger.
* OK, debate (no fisticuffs, please) which is the best rhytmic gymnastic event: the ball, the rope, the big hoop, the clubs, or the ribbon on a stick. I'm a ribbon on a stick gal myself. What courage it takes to do ribbon on a stick, man!