The saga continued for another shit week

Published by Rick on Tagged Uncategorized

I hate using body functions as the source for humour, but they’re something we take for granted, and in the past week my body has mistaken it for granite, the first of many light-hearted ways to talk about my shit week, or lack of shit week. When we last left me in Preston, it was getting toward Saturday night, and things were looking optimistic. I was certainly feeling better, just very weak from the ordeal of the previous 36 hours. My stomach pains had subsided, but much as I needed a stool on stage (not to mention terribly needing to deposit one OFF stage) Friday in case I collapsed, I forgot to ask someone to put one on stage Saturday. This meant no place to rest my water (I MUST have been ill; no beer or wine??), so I went on stage with no liquid. As I hit a high note during a Rod Stewart parody, I got dizzy, and for the rest of the set my voice was virtually gone. Oh joy, and only 15 minutes to go! With a nice supportive crowd, no less. I think I convinced the audience I was the only one who knew there was anything wrong, so I got off, got paid, got out!

This time I went to bed about 11:30, woke up at 2:30 with mild pain, enough that I never got back to sleep; this would in fact kick off over 24 consecutive hours of non-sleep. I had asked the front desk at the hotel for an 8:00 wake-up, which never came, not that I needed it, but wanted time for breakfast and navigating to the train station. I couldn’t eat a lot, as “border patrol” still wasn’t letting “anyone” leave, though at least the occasional “air mail” found its way through.

The 10:00 train was on time, got into London Euston on time at 12:45, and thus began the odyssey of trying to use public transit on a day when about 75% of the tube lines are shut, and expectedly all the ones I needed! {I fully understand the necessity of the maintenance crews working overtime to make sure that, with the millions of tourists coming through for this year’s Royal Wedding and next year’s Olympics, no one leaves London thinking it hasn’t got its act together. I still remember what a mess Los Angeles Airport was until about three months before the 1984 Olympics came to LA. It’s been a comparative breeze ever since. I had to work my way back to Dagenham carrying TWO suitcases and a guitar, as my late-arriving US baggage, for those who remember last week’s story, was brought up to Preston. I was going to have to use “replacement buses,” which would be cramped and add at least an hour to my journey. I managed to get on one, found a space for my baggage, and would have to take another from Barking, but my belly said “Take a cab!” For the extra £15, I got home with a semblance of sanity, but far from any semblance of health.

Most of Sunday night and Monday would be spent in fetal position. I managed to get to sleep for about three hours beginning at @5:30 AM, meaning nearly 27 sleepless hours. I couldn’t see the doctor until Tuesday, because I somehow thought I was going to return to my Monday shift at the charity shop, and there was no time the doctor could see me that morning. By the time I’d changed my mind about the charity shop, the doctor’s appointments had filled up. So Monday day and night was spent trying to force some relief by over-the-counter medicine, but only “lemonade, around the corner no fudge was made.” Tuesday morning I’d managed to actually “let my people go,” certainly not the whole populace, but enough to cause things to churn about. The doctor, when I finally saw him, attributed it to a bug that has been going around, and I’ve since been offered many cautious rebuttals to that analysis.

The rest of Tuesday was agonizing, though sleep that night was long and encouraging. Wednesday morning, more “kids were dropped off,” but as with Tuesday, it was mostly beef broth. Still, beggars can’t be choosers, at least the express was sort of rolling. I blew it though, assuming I’d gotten over the hump, so I actually made chicken soup in the afternoon, and ate the whole thing over the rest of the day. And here I was bragging on Facebook about it, giving everyone the thumbs up, plus getting two gigs confirmed for the weekend. Well, it was a serious condition, one that chicken soup could probably help, but only if taken in moderation. I was so wrapped up in how good I’d made the soup that I didn’t think about my limitations. Thursday was back to feeling like shit (but not!), and the pains persisted until early evening.

There’s been no further pains since Friday, but the daily deposits left in the toilet are only what a rabbit might be proud of, certainly no bigger creature. Maybe this is odd to discuss my bowel habits with the general public, but I don’t care. As you get older, that daily occurrence becomes more important, especially when it’s NOT daily. I thank the people that have offered their condolences, sympathies, remedies, and other words of wisdom. Though it’s now been three full days without major discomfort, I know I’m not out of the woods yet, and won’t be until I’ve dropped the first real log, and I swear that’s the last pun!

April 19th, 2010



Leave a Comment

You must be logged in to post a comment.