|Dangerspouse Rides Again|
Garage - Track
Jan. 18, 2015 - 7:00 a.m.
Worth a Thousand Words
NewWifey(tm) has diverticulitis.
Let me give you some advice should you be considering getting diverticulitis: don't get diverticulitis. It's bad.
Just over two weeks ago, Friday January 2, 2015, NewWifey(tm) said to me, "I can't poop."
"That would explain why you smell better down there" I said.
She hit me. "This is serious. I can't poop. But I have to poop. It feels like everything is just backing up and pushing my gut out."
"Huh. I thought you were just getting fat. That's a relief."
She hit me again (harder, and with a shoe). "Quit fucking around. This is serious."
"Ok, ok. What do you want me to do? Squeeze you? Get my rolling pin? A plumber's snake?"
"No. Take me to the hospital."
Hospitals are expensive. We don't do expensive.
"You want to go to the hospital because you can't shit?! I'll tell you what. I've got a VitaMix, I'll make you up a black coffee-burrito shake. Down it with a beer chaser, you'll be empty in an hour."
"I can't even fart."
"Again. Burrito coffee shake."
She didn't have any comeback for this. Mostly because she was lying on the floor in a fetal position crying.
We went to the hospital.
At the hospital we were immediately directed to a bed in one of the ER bays. Where we waited.
For two and a half hours we waited, with NewWifey(tm) curled up and moaning on the bed while I had fun pressing the various foot levers and watching her go up and down, tilt, and fold at various points. She was in too much pain to protest, so it was great. During this time a few nurses wandered in and asked her for things like insurance information and if she had been to any West African countries. One or two apologized for the wait, but "it's the day after New Years and a lot of the doctors are off and we are SWAMPED with alcohol related injuries". Which apparently trump sober women in fetal positions.
So we waited some more.
F i n a l l y as we approached the 3-hour mark a nurse came in to do something other than not help. She asked NewWifey(tm) where it hurt, took some readings, asked me if I beat her, then said "It sounds like kidney stones." And she left.
A half an hour later the doctor swooped in. He asked NewWifey(tm) where it hurt, took some readings, asked me if I beat her, then said "It sounds like kidney stones." He gave her some pain meds so she could straighten her body out, then had her wheeled downstairs for a CT scan.
"It's not kidney stones" he said. "It's diverticulitis."
"YAY!" said NewWifey(tm).
"Oh NO!!" said Dangerspouse.
See, NewWifey(tm) was thinking "I heard passing a kidney stone is like birthing a minivan!"
But I was thinking, "Passing a kidney stone is bad, but once it's over - it's over. Diverticulitis is being stuck in a bad long term relationship."
The news just got worse. NewWifey(tm)'s case is pretty severe. She couldn't poop because her colon basically swelled to the size of that minivan. Nothing could get by.
The doc pulled me aside. "Now I know what you're thinking" he said. "You're thinking, 'thank god it's an illness, not that she's getting fat'. We all think that. But here's the thing: this could kill her. If you don't take good care of her, she could die. Then you'd have to go out and find another woman, and who's to say SHE won't get fat? Know what I mean?"
Ok, he didn't actually use those words. But that's what I heard. What he said was more along the lines of "She's gotta be on heavy antibiotics for a while, and no solid foods for the next two weeks. After that, it's baby food for the next several months. At least."
He also strongly, strongly, recommended she be admitted to the hospital so they could keep her fluid levels up and monitor symptoms. But she nixed that straight away once she found out she'd have to use a bed pan. Risking death at the hands of an inattentive/incompetent husband, but having her own toilet, seemed a preferable option.
So I carted her back home, opened her pill bottles, and started making broths and jello.
Jello jello jello. So. Much. Jello. It was the only thing other than pure liquids that she was allowed to have. I've never seen so much jello, let alone made it. Did you know if you make enough batches of jello in one day it turns your pee neon pink?
Needless to say, NewWifey(tm) did not suffer this gladly. Or quietly. From all the wailing and gnashing of teeth you'd think her internal sewer line was still blocked, and about to blow. But she was back to pooping with depressing regularity by the third day. All her histrionics were all from gustatory dissatisfaction.
Meanwhile, I was suffering too. Aside from the indignity of applying my years of intense culinary training to meal after meal of "mix 2 cups water to 1 packet of jello, refrigerate for 45 minutes", I was required to cease boinking NewWifey(tm) until such time as...well, we don't know yet. Basically, we were told that nothing - nothing - was to go into NewWifey(tm) that wasn't liquid, or jello. The nurse made sure to look over her bifocals at me in a very knowing way when she said that.
I have to say, for the first time since I've known her, that was OK with NewWifey(tm). That's how I know she wasn't faking the pain. But me? I haven't gone more than two weeks without sex since she went down to visit her folks 3 years ago, and at the same time back at home Casey the Wonder Corgi came down with mange. It was awful. Now Casey's dead, and my wife is out of commission for possibly months? You might as well notify my next-of-kin right now.
NewWifey(tm), bless her little inflamed colon, is not without sympathy for me. She's been doing everything in her power to keep me from exploding in a libidinous flash short of actually letting me touch her. She bookmarks RedTube videos she thinks I might enjoy when I get home from work, and she rigged up a toy cement mixer that she filled with warm mashed potatoes and rotates around Little Elvis whenever I want. (I tell ya, close your eyes and it's eerie how similar it feels.)
Now a quick break for some backstory:
I'm a technoboob. I have this PC that I'm typing on right now, and I have a PC at work. But that's it. No smart phone. No pad. And I'm not on any social media site (except Pintrest, which I just signed up for in the hopes of winning a new KitchenAid mixer. As soon as I don't, I'm cancelling my account).
I do have a Nintendo DSi. I use it almost exclusively to play Animal Crossing when I'm in the bathroom. My game has been going for just over 7 years now. I have over 130-million bells.
The Nintendo DSi has a camera function. When you take a picture with it, you can make it the system's wallpaper. The camera, as you can imagine, is not exactly Nikon grade. But it's more than adequate for the sort of person who would play a game meant for 10 year old girls for 7 and a half years.
Back to the story:
This past Friday I got to work, turned my computer on, logged into my e-mail, and saw I had a message from NewWifey(tm).
All it said was, "Turn on your DSi. :) :) :) :) :)"
I turned on my DSi.
Hmmm. It didn't seem any different. The "WARNING: EPILEPSY HAZARD" screen came up, flashed like mad, then went to the options screen, same as usual. I scrolled through the various functions on the bottom screen before it hit me: the default wallpaper on the top screen was different. Gone was the badly out of focus screen shot of Hippo team's Stug-III from "Girls und Panzer". In it's place was what looked like a giant, mutant caterpillar with one eye, and covered in fur. I stared at it, turned it upside down, stared at it again, turned it sideways. I couldn't figure out what it was.
My radio studio is sandwiched between two other studios, one of which is occupied by Debbie, the other by Cindy. We're all good friends as well as co-workers. So I went to each one, showed the the pic, and asked their opinion. Each looked at it, turned it upside down, then sideways, and pronounced it a mystery. Debby took out her iPhone and took a picture of it. "I'll put this up on my Facebook page and see of anyone there can figure it out." "Ooh, good idea" said Cindy. "I'll do it too!" and she snapped a pic also. Twenty minutes later each had over 80 Likes. But no answers.
Wouldn't have been easier to just call NewWifey(tm) and ask her, you ask? Well, no. It was 4:30 in the morning. NewWifey(tm) generally doesn't wake up til 9, and calling her any time before that would be risking my marriage.
By 10 o'clock there were still no answers, although the "Like" count was now approaching 4 digits. I figured I'd wait til 10:30 and then call her.
But I didn't have to. At 10:15 my e-mail alert flashed. It was NewWifey(tm).
"Didja turn your game on?" she wrote.
I wrote back: "Yeah. But...what is it??"
"LOLOL!! It's ME, silly! I figure you can't pull up RedTube at work, so now if you need a fix all you have to do is turn on your Nintendo!"
I ran out of my studio and into Debbie's.
One look at her face and I knew. Someone had finally figured it out and posted the answer on her Facebook page.
I ran to Cindy's studio.
Fortunately, as I said, we ARE all good friends. And they work in morning drive radio, in New York City. So they're not exactly delicate, wilting flowers. Still, it's not something I would have shown them under normal circumstances. I think.
Anyway, after frantically scrambling to erase all online traces of their inadvertent porn posts, both girls came into my studio and asked how it was that I had a badly out of focus close-up of an unwaxed vagina as the wallpaper for my video game. So I told them about the diverticulitis and the jello and the RedTube and even the mashed potato Tonka truck. They both expressed horror at the dietary restrictions NewWifey(tm) was being forced to follow, but no sympathy for my own plight. Women! Then they laughed and told me to get a better camera, and went back to their respective studios.
In some ways, this is the best job in the world.
Later, at home, NewWifey(tm) asked me "So, did that brighten your day, or what?"
"It sure did" I said. "In fact, LOTS of people liked it."
She blanched. "Uhhhhhhh...what??"
I laughed. "Yeah, when I saw that picture I was so happy, I had a smile in my voice the entire day. Thousands of people could probably tell I was in a great mood, and that always makes listeners feel good. And it's all thanks to you!"
And I turned and walked to the kitchen to make jello before I started laughing.
And that's the poop.
This business of not having a working "Notes" section pretty annoying, huh? I didn't realize it, but a lot of my feelings of self worth are apparently tied to the fawning and sycophantic scribbles I get after each of my entries goes up. NOW WHAT'S MY INCENTIVE?! I demand tribute!
Or at least an e-mail. All correspondence is appreciated, and might even be answered. My fragile ego demands it. Maybe I'll even send back a picture of a fuzzy caterpillar if you're lucky.