Friendly friends of mine, please allow me to pass along the wisdom of my many years upon this earth. (Firefly, you really wanna stop reading NOW--this post references the V word repeatedly, graphically, and in the ickiest ways imaginable.)
You know, the world is filled with lessons. "Don't touch that stove." "Don't walk down dark alleys alone at midnight." "Doctors don't tell you a damn thing you need to know."
Oh...yeah, that last one probably needs some explaining, hm?
For six of the seven most recent days, I was sick.
No, not stuffy-nose, Kleenex-trailing sick; not cramps or bird flu or bubonic plague or any of the other mild little inconveniences of life. I didn't know WHAT it was, actually; from a descriptive point of view, it was "mild stomach pain, not helped by rest, by tea, by Rolaids, by ginger ale, by Pepto, by Sprite, by changing positions; alternating with repeated retching, gagging, hurling, Technicolor yawning; coupled with nightmares (when sleeping) and really painful and undignified intestinal occurrences (fortunately, only when waking) and highlighted by the repeated and ungratified wish for the mercy of Death." Also, intense sweating (possibly due to the 90-degree temperatures) and the puking out of my spleen.
Y'all, I was NEVER sick like this before...well, okay, I was--ONCE. And that was here. Which, if you recall, involved a week's hospitalization, two major surgical procedures, and a lot of misery. I've had opiate withdrawals easier than this week was, is what I'm saying here.
I thought a lot of things. What I did NOT think was "hm, I wonder if this has anything to do with trying to wean myself off the antidepressants?"
Well, it was. In a big way. More details when I'm at a computer that is NOT in a 90+-degree room--but I've learned a LOT these last couple of days, and I'm none too happy about any of it.
More soon. I'm fine now, fortunately...not unscathed, but fine. Oh--and pissed.
