Psyche and Soma, Those Crazy Kids!

Good news!

Because I have a really rotten case of first time diverticulitis, and am flirting with a perforated colon, I think I will turn off the boob tube, stop playing bridge, set aside the book... and do some writing. If nothing gets posted, well, at least the pile of drafts will be that much taller. But if nothing EVER gets posted, well, I guess that'll mean I either imploded, or exploded, or both.

This is crazy... Apparently, I had undiagnosed diverticulosis. But I eat beaucoup fiber! Seriously, with my history of small bowel obstructions that have required surgery [4 SBOs, 3 surgeries], you can bet your sweet bippy that I aim for 60 grams of fiber a day, roughly twice the RDA. That's what the last surgeon to unknot my guts recommended, back in 1996, and until last September, I had no problems. For some reason, I developed a partial obstruction that took over a week to resolve. The x-ray studies done then didn't show any diverticulosis... or if they did, it wasn't serious enough to mention.

I finally called Super Doc yesterday afternoon, despite my plans not to bother him until Monday. He started me on antibiotics and made depressing grumbling noises about how steroids thin the intestinal wall, about how much more I am at risk by virtue of being... me.

This is rather painful, this abscessing colon business. It's not the kind of pain one cannot tolerate, though, and I certainly don't need any pain medication to deal with it, as my normal regimen just about covers it... I guess it is more... scary? Is that the word, the attribute? Just knowing that the next sharp pain might be my intestinal wall, caving in?

Psyche, meet Soma.

(Those crazy kids!)

Oh, yes. On this day mumblemumble years ago, my mother demanded some pitocin so that I might be born on her birthday. I was so looking forward to cake but am settling for celebratory broth.

Oh... one more thing. I wasn't gonna say anything, but the topic keeps coming up since Marlinspike Hall, deep, deep in the Tête de Hergé (très décédé, d' ailleurs), is a secret MMA training camp for the Miniature SaraThunderToga ThickNecks of the Third Degree. As a fellow diverticulitis sufferer, I want to distance myself from recent remarks made by Professional Ingrate and Official StupidPerson, Brock Lesnar. Way to alienate half a continent, dood.