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Monday, January 26, 2009

critical beatdown

the doctor tells me to take my shirt off and leaves the room for 15 minutes. there's no way to look cool sitting in a doctor's office with no shirt on for 15 minutes. i study the norman rockwell paintings of country doctors and their adorably cheeky young patients with an attention to detail i don't believe they've ever been subjected to by a shirtless man. i will tell you this: that norman sure did rock well. 

doctor returns, takes my blood pressure. pokes my back.

"this hurt?"
"nope."
"this?"
"uh uh."
"how about this?"
"sorry to disappoint." 

he tells me to lie down and begins jabbing at my abdomen.

"this hurt?"
"no."
"this?"
"
nyet."  
"thi -- ... uh. please come down off the ceiling."
"mommy."

he draws some blood, i pee in a cup and he tells me: "you don't fit the profile in the slightest, but all your symptoms suggest that you may have a gallstone." the typical gallstone sufferer profile, of course, is an overweight female in her 40s. (later, when i tell my brother this, he says "dude, i always knew you were a fat old woman.")

so the doc is going to run some tests and let me know what comes next 
(ultrasound? laproscopic surgery?) he did seem to think the stone was probably small and, given the location of the pain, in the process of passing all by itself. (this is where we pause and all praise jesus, allah, buddah and satan that i don't have a kidney stone.) he tells me to stick to a low fat diet. i tell him i had bratwurst for dinner the night before. he says "don't do that again." i'm like "ever?"

on my way home i am stewing and brewing. feeling sorry for myself. i am walking down my block and i begin to picture my little gallstone, floating along the bile duct. i well with pride a little bit. this is my special little guy -- i made him! behold the miracle of life! i decide to name him Charles.
he is the son my wife never bore me. my own little Charles de Gall. i love him. 

and then ZING! a branch from a giant rosebush reaches over a fence as i walk by and it jabs me square in the fucking eye! the whole world flashes red and then goes black. i almost fall down from the surprise and the pain -- my eye feels like it's the size of a baseball and it's streaming tears. FUCK! my right eye! i am five blocks from my house, stomping along in the early evening rush hour, one hand over my eye and cursing up a blue streak. "fucking goddamn fucking
cocksucking bush! fuck! ow! fuck! my fucking eye! first fucking gallstones and now i'm going to lose a fucking eye. FUCK!" i turn around and shout at the front yard with the bush in it: "I'M GOING TO BURN YOUR FUCKING HOUSE DOWN!" i run up to the bush and start snapping off branches and stomping on them. people are crossing the street in order to avoid me. 

my eye really hurts. 

i get home, one hand over my eye and the other on my side. my rage has apparently ratcheted up the bile production. little Charles is kicking. it takes me a minute to get the key into the door because i have no depth perception. i scratch the paint around the lock with my key and spit profanities at the world. when i get in, i am relieved that the kids are out with the sitter and the house is empty. this allows me to throw things and drop atomic f-bombs throughout the living room and kitchen. 

it takes a full hour, but eventually i am able to open my eye for more than 30 seconds at a time. gradually i realize that i am probably not going to have to walk around with an
eyepatch and gallstones next week. this is a relief. that would have been too much to take. the kids come home ("daddy, why are you holding your eye?") and the bile in my system generally subsides. i realize that, erm, this too shall pass.

mrs nice guy gets home and puts the kids to bed while i drink a tall glass of doctor-discouraged beer. i start to feel better.

a little later, i'm walking to my room, glad the day is done and eager to crawl into bed. as i amble down the hall, i stub my toe so hard that i feel it in my groin. my testicles crawl up inside my body and, i guess, introduce themselves to Charles. my gallbladder tells them that there's no more room at the inn. my side aches. my eye begins tearing up again and i cover it with my hand as i hop towards my bed. the toe is throbbing and it feels like someone has
jabbed a pen-knife into my gut. i'm doubled over and hobbling blindly. i have no depth perception and i almost miss the bed. the toe -- the second on my my left foot -- i notice has instantly turned an ungodly shade of purple. 

i am pretty sure it's broken. 

i collapse on the bed and i wait for 2009 to be over.
 

mrs nice guy looks up from her laptop and asks: "are you done yet?"

16 Comments:

Blogger Karen said...

I apologize for laughing at your pain.

1/26/2009 10:38 AM  
Blogger Chris said...

I can't tell if this is a normal post or a treatment for the next Fletch movie.

1/26/2009 10:42 AM  
Blogger barbara said...

yes yes. i had my gallbladder taken out during spring break in college (also not a fat 40 year old but a spritely ballet dancing 20 year old). i can still remember the pain. popcorn is not your friend, my friend. as is any other delicious food stuff. tums. now, they are your friend. sprinkle as you see fit.

1/26/2009 11:43 AM  
Blogger hillary said...

my god, I missed your blog.

...I mean, sorry about all the pain and suffering.

1/26/2009 1:24 PM  
Blogger Fairly Odd Mother said...

I feel almost guilty laughing out loud as you hop around and curse. It's nice to have you back even though you are now battered and broken.

1/26/2009 1:49 PM  
Blogger Lesley said...

Didn't I tell you to tell them about the fertile bit? Female, fat, forty, fair and fertile.

1/26/2009 2:44 PM  
Anonymous Monica said...

I don't know the gallbladder pain personally, but the eyeball? Oh god that hurts. Um, if it doesn't start feeling better soon you should probably get it checked out. I'm just sayin'.

1/26/2009 3:22 PM  
Blogger Black Hockey Jesus said...

With norman rocking well and Charles de Gall, you're on. You must be one of those suffer for your art dudes.

I'm glad it's just a gallstone and not a urinary tract infection caused by a rare bacteria that doesn't allow oxygen to your hands and feet so you need to get them all amputated like that Brazil model. Because she died, dude. So stop bitching about your eye.

1/26/2009 4:08 PM  
Blogger nelson said...

Now this is why I read blogs...Keep up the good work!

1/26/2009 9:10 PM  
Anonymous Lynn (Walking With Scissors) said...

And I was so sure that it was your ovaries! You *do* fit the profile, after all...

If you're at all suspicious, apparently bad things happen in threes, so you can tell your wife that you ARE done now. :)

1/27/2009 12:38 AM  
Blogger Pandechion said...

I love your wife.

1/27/2009 8:26 AM  
Blogger Amanda said...

Is it wrong that I found this post hilarious? I do hope you are feeling better.

1/27/2009 8:44 PM  
Blogger Momma Trish said...

Sorry you went through it. But damn, this is funny. Glad the police didn't show up at your house and charge you for vandalizing the rosebush ... you could just see it happening. :)

1/28/2009 11:25 AM  
Anonymous d.Sharp said...

Hey, glad you are back.

Yikes, what a day - I do love your wife's response!

My husband hurt his eye when I was overdue. The thing is, he wears an eye patch on the other eye. So at nearly midnight I stuffed him in a cab with a credit card and made sure the driver would walk him to the ER. I needed to stay with our other son. I just kept thinking, if I go into labor right now, I am not going to be happy.

1/29/2009 5:37 PM  
Anonymous samantha jo campen said...

I've always liked that Mrs. Nice Guy.

And what I wouldn't give to have been a fly on the wall during all of your injustices. Oy.

2/13/2009 9:21 PM  
Anonymous Ajlouny said...

Don't mean to laugh at you, but it's funny that you were on a continual path of self destruction...my apologies about your pain.

3/08/2009 1:17 AM  

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