Thursday, April 9, 2009

Gall Bladder Fail

Perhaps you missed last nights warning, but for some of you who are just now tuning in, tonight's story is not for the faint of heart, or gut. The tale I am about to divulge has not been altered in any way from the reality of what took place one fateful night. Let me set the stage.

Holly and I had enjoyed a nice, quiet dinner at Wings in Patton Creek. The food was fantastic and the atmosphere as always, was quite festive. Holly mentioned that she would enjoy a nice stroll around the local Toyota dealership, and ever the giving person, I politely obliged. Had I known what lay a-brewing I would have promptly ushered her to the car and we would have driven home as speedily as possible. This night, however, I would not be so lucky. Upon arrival at the dealership I felt this familiar gurgle in the deep recesses of my gastrointestinal region. I knew what was going to happen, it was just a matter of time. I told her to go ahead, I wanted to sit in the car because my stomach didn't feel right. She said, "Do we need to go?" "URGENTLY" I thought, but "No I'm ok, you go ahead and look" is all that came out of my mouth. Five minutes passed and the onset began. I put my feet up, I turned on my side, I laid back, but no position provided comfort. I could take no more. I got out of the car, and could see Holly on the other end of the parking lot. Two joyous couples were lazily strolling around hand in hand. They seemed so content and peaceful, until I shouted, "WE NEED TO GO!"

Holly could not have walked back fast enough. As she approached the car, she said, "Are you ok?" "I tend not to cause a scene in public when I'm doing ok. Please just drive home, and fast." As we got on I-459 the pain really hit. The kind you can't avoid. My intestines screamed out, "RELEASE OR ELSE!" Cold sweats. Discomfort. I speedily undid my belt and pants to relieve some pressure, but nothing helped. I cut the A/C on high and every vent in the car was pointed at me with my feet on the dash. "I'm not going to make it home." "What do you want me to do?" Holly asked. I instructed her to get off at 119 and make her way to the Racetrac. In my mind, I thought they would have the least dirty bathrooms, but at that point, the cleanliness began to concern me less and less. My friends I tell you a great truth in life. No person should ever consider going to the bathroom in their pants just to get some relief. But there, on that ironically beautiful night, I pondered, "If I just go, there will be a massive clean up effort, but at least the pain will be gone."

As we approached the gas station, I feared the worst. Holly did not get the car in park before I jumped up and ran into the building one hand on my pants holding them up. I was completely undignified, and unashamed as I barreled through the store. When I got in the bathroom I reached to clasp the door, but the lock was broken. "Oh no! There can be no witnesses to this crime!" I speedily moved back into the hallway and with a finger pointed at the door to the girls bathroom I yelled at the man behind the counter, "Is there a lock on this door?" "Is there some..." "IS THERE A LOCK ON THIS DOOR?!?!" I interrupted. He nodded and I exploded in the door...to the shock of the 70 year old woman currently using the facilities. (Not really. I made this part up, but what an ending that would have been.) I slammed the door behind me and fastened the lock. The events that came next I can not begin to describe in mere human terms, nor would you want me to. Allow me only to say that what I did in that place was a SIN. There's no two ways about it. It's the only way I know to describe it, sin. 

As I left that place I didn't look at anyone in the face. I had desecrated their porcelain throne room, and they knew it. I got back in the car and we sped away never to be seen again. From time to time I pass by that fine establishment on warm spring days filled with peace in my belly and with a wry smile tip my hat in gratitude for the now fond memories of once uglier times. I'm not proud of these events, but relay them only to let you know that this illness is not so funny as to be casually joked about on Facebook statuses by unsuffering minions who know the Ractrac as only the place to get cheap gas.
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