The Worst Night(s) (and Days) of my Life Part Deux

How can I even begin to describe the past 4 days? I feel I would need many languages in order to come up with enough adjectives for “horrible.”

It all began with the terrible fever I told you about in my last entry. Ah, if only that were the end of it! A fever, you see, is not so bad. You hurt a little, and you’re weak and stinky, but that’s it. After what I’ve been through, such a thing sounds like a magical boat ride down a river in Heaven with cherubs serving me chilled prawn juice. No, my friend, after 2 days and one totally sleepless night of raging fever, I awoke to excruciating stomach cramps which led to “the shits.” I do not use that term lightly. I think over the past two days, I have probably shit 57 times. I spent a full 36 hours experiencing the most crushing, ripping abdominal pain I have ever known. These pains came fairly regularly at 20 minute intervals all through the day and the night. I have not slept since the night of August 19th. I have not eaten since Betsy and her man friend bought me noodles for my birthday on August 20th, which was, incidentally, the worst birthday of my life thus far. I ate five bites of these noodles. I also hit my head incredibly hard on the door while I was getting in. Cali described this as a “tough bonk.”

Yes, it seemed the universe had a bone to pick with old Yours Truly. I am very grateful to even be writing this, actually. I have been unable to sit upright for some time. The best part about this is that during these 4 days I have managed to drive to Santa Monica and look at 4 apartments. White, sweaty, shaking, hunched over, biting my fist, I DID IT. I was determined. The first one was super emo and I hated it. The second one was awesome and I applied for it. And the third one was amazing. And it was on the way to the third one that I managed to puke in my car while driving.

Right in the middle of the road! Not even pulled over! It came over me all sudden like. Luckily, I had just stopped at the drugstore to purchase some diarrhea medication (note: it did not work), so I had a nice clean plastic bag right there in the passenger seat. I was driving along at a fast clip, when suddenly I thought, “my god, I’m going to puke.” I turned onto a side street and before the car had stopped I was already puking. I had two coherent thoughts during this:

1. Please don’t puke on my clothes because I have to meet this apartment lady in five minutes
2. I hope I didn’t leave my wallet in this plastic sack I am puking into

Luckily, both of these things turned out to be fortuitous, and I washed my face with my sweatshirt and a bottle of old water I had laying around, and continued on my merry way (the bag of puke conveniently stored in a cardboard box normally used to hold cassette tapes).

I am totally delirious from lack of sleep/food. When I woke up today I could at first not believe how bad I smelled. I thought someone had left garbage under the window. But no, it was just my body. I felt like a human being again, albeit one who had to walk hunched over because all the muscles in her lower back/belly were totally clenched with the stress of 36 hours of unending pain/shitting. I went to the bathroom and stepped on the scale. Six pounds! I lost six pounds in the last 4 days!

That’s one way to do it, I guess.

I can’t remember a time when I’ve been in so much pain for such a long time. Even my worst menstrual cramps only last a day. I was thinking about people who live with chronic pain much worse than what I was experiencing. It is just amazing that people go on for years with their bodies hurting so badly. At one point I was thinking of going to the hospital because I was convinced I had stomach cancer. It was just this relentless, all-consuming pain, like fire, like burning embers shoved into my guts. That part only lasted 2 days and 2 nights, but I think if it had continued I might have fainted on the ground and needed an ambulance. It’s amazing what people can grow to tolerate. I was thinking, “if “god” told me that I would have to live like this for the rest of my life, would I do it or would I kill myself?” and the answer was, unquestionably, “kill myself.” So I don’t know. It was a sobering look into my own strength or lack thereof. What about Augustus McCrae, riding horseback with an Apache arrow stuck in his femur, and then lying in an old creek bed while Pea Eye cut it out with a bowie knife? And then he had to walk 15 miles on a rotten leg, only to die anyway.
That’s gumption.

The upshot is that I finally got that entire Al Gore New Yorker article read. Betsy periodically came in to her own home to make sure I hadn’t died and she’d check my progress on the Al Gore article laying open on the bathroom floor. Then she’d congratulate me. That article was a real slog.