So the other day I had another obstruction day, or as I have come to call it, The Festival of Vomit. Yes, some mystery item that I ate, which I've eaten a million times without incident, because whaddaya know I have a pretty limited diet since I try to avoid things that motherfucking might get stuck, became lodged in the a) narrow part, b) scarred tissue or c) diseased area [depending on which doctor you talk to] of my small intestine and resulted in horror-movie pain, vomiting, yadda yadda yadda. BIG sigh. And I've been doing so well lately too.
But bear with me. This gets funny.
I also recently tried Botox. Hang on while I brace myself for a chiding from the three of you: OK. I'm ready, BRING IT....
OK, done. I know everything lame you can say about Botox. And I agree. But I have a perma-frown and I hate it and I've lived in San Diego for too long and I just thought: I'll try it. So I did.
They tell you it takes 7 - 10 days to kick in, but the initial injection left me with very slight swelling in the frowny area. Just enough, as it turns out, to kind of plump out the frown and give me a preview of what I'd look like without a frown for the first time in a decade.
And I liked it. So sue me, I liked it: I was looking forward to the effects of an injection of a deadly neurotoxin right between the eyes.
Then the Festival of Vomit kicked in and I kind of forgot about my frown. Or was frowning extra. Or just felt more desperate than a little wild animal with its leg in a trap somewhere. Until...
Until around about Puking #3, after which I was hanging my head over the sink, frantically rinsing the muck out of my mouth, when I glanced in the mirror and noticed the merest impression, a slight dent really, in the flattering post-injection, pre-neurotoxin-effect swollen area. At first I thought, Hunh. This will never do. And then I realized: it's from resting my head on the edge of the toilet seat. I tried smoothing it out. No dice. I moved on, busy with curling up on the floor, fighting off the shakes, reassuring the Bean that I was fine and didn't need a boo-boo strip, etc. (Bean after witnessing Puking #1, gazing into toilet beside me: "What that called?" Uhhhh....)
The Festival of Vomit final score was eight times in three hours; sometime after Puking #6 I glanced in the mirror and realized that I had so successfully and rapidly un-hydrated myself that the flattering anti-frowny fillerouter swelling, and the attendant toilet-seat-edge dent, was totally gone. Just like that [snaps fingers].
And I actually felt disappointed. Then I laughed. What's wrong with this picture!? What's wrong with someone who is so worried about how the outside looks that she's willing to get shots to improve it, while her insides rot and turn into Swiss cheese? How absurd is it to be worried about a cosmetic dent in your cosmetic Botox zone while you are puking your guts out because your small intestine is blocked? I mean really. To be disappointed that some sort of frown-curing, post-injection swelling is gone, because your intestinal obstruction dehydrated you... there aren't words for it.
This pretty much sums up how I feel during The Festival of Vomit.
PS:
Also during this Festival of Vomit I told myself that it wasn't as bad as previous occasions because vomit wasn't ALSO coming out of my nose. And then during Puking #7, it happened, and I was disappointed: Ah, THERE it is, the nasal spewing! And here I thought I would escape it! What kind of whistling past the cemetery is that? In retrospect it saddens me that I try to slice it so thin, try to sell myself this bill of goods: a Festival of Vomit is less worse, can't be quite that bad, if only I don't throw up out my nose.
Photo credit: The Exorcist, DUH. Via a site called Film School Rejects.
No comments:
Post a Comment