Night of the Living Dead

Just so you know, I’m calling the Pope to suggest that Terry be canonized for Sainthood.  I know he’s still alive, but he deserves it at any rate. The man is a godsend. Yes, he is.

You see, yesterday, I made an epic mistake.  I’m not sure which did it or if it was a combination of both, but food caused me great duress. 

I made Mexican for dinner.  We always use the no salt added tomato sauce, and low sodium taco shells. So the meal was within my dietary guidelines. But….since I had been doing so well, I waited about three hours after dinner, around nine-thirty or so, and ate some chocolate ice cream.

Huge mistake.  What the H-E-L-L was I thinking?????

Aside from the fact that the Cyclo has made my teeth very sensitive to hot, cold and pressure, about thirty minutes after I ate a very small portion of chocolate ice cream, my chest began to ache.

It gradually got worse and worse. I put the electric blanket on, hoping it was muscular and the heat might soothe the pain. Nope, didn’t work.  The only thing I managed to do is attract two cats to my lap. They love the electric blanket.

I decided to go to bed.

In bed, I couldn’t get comfortable. I did the Flounder Flop. It’s what Terry calls my process of tossing and turning relentlessly in an attempt to find a comfortable position. It annoys the hell out of him.  I turned on the heating pad and put the heat directly on the pained area. It didn’t work either.  I was growing desperate.  I went into the living room and asked Terry to come to bed. Surprisingly, he did.  He must have known that if he refused me, he would disappear.

Terry rubbed my back for almost thirty minutes, with no luck. The pain grew in intensity. So, I went in the bathroom and took some sleep meds.  I wanted to try to go to sleep. Finally, I drifted off.

At about three in the morning, I woke. The pain was exponentially worse. Briefly, I actually thought I was having a heart attack.  I knew I wasn’t, but its what it felt like at the time.  The pain was dead center in my chest behind my breast bone and radiated around both sides of my rib cage and into the center of my back.

I got up and went to the trusty ole jacuzzi tub. My sudsy savior.

I run scalding hot water, turned on the jets and settled back into the steaming water, praying to God that this would be the one thing that worked.  After thirty minutes of begging, pleading and two tear filled breakdowns later, I was still in agony and water logged, so I got out of the tub and crawled back into bed.

Terry was sound asleep.

I lay there for as long as I could. There wasn’t a position I could find that eased the pain so I could pass out.  I tried a semi sitting position, but my boobs are so swollen and heavy, that actually hurt more. I tried my side. Then my other side. Neither of those worked either.  Then I rolled over onto my belly. In that position, I was squishing my boobs and couldn’t breathe. So I flipped over onto my back. NOTHING HELPED.  I began to cry again.  It was the pain. It was the exhaustion. And it was the pain working on my mental stability.

I sobbed.  In my frantic state, I reached out to Terry, waking him.  I knew crying was the wrong thing to do. It clogged my sinus cavities, made my nose runny and made breathing harder, the pain worse.  Terry didn’t know what to do, but remained calm. He rubbed my back again. Turned on the television. Then finally went to find me the long lost prescription, Zantac.  Dr. Asshole has given it to me last year, but I never took it.

I was changing my tune now.  I would have taken cyanide, crack cocaine or concentrated morphine to end the cycle of pain that I was caught in last night.

I honestly thought I was going to have to go to the ER yet AGAIN.  I didn’t want to do that. There was no way in my pained state that I was going anywhere near a hospital, a Needle Nazi or let them tell me that it was just indigestion or heart burn.

Thank goodness that that was exactly what it was… indigestion. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here today. The pain was that awful.  Had it been a heart attack, I wouldn’t have woken this morning or this afternoon rather.

Terry and I were up for most of the night, begging God to ease the pain, trying to bargain with Him to heal me, asking for courage, desperately wishing I could just faint or pass out for a little while.  This isn’t my first go round with indigestion, but it was my first time in this much discomfort.  Unfortunately, with all the meds that I am taking, I’d better get used to it.

So the next time you see my husband, it’ll be Saint Terry of Hephzibah, comforter of pain, soother of mental breakdowns and VBR – Vigorous Back Rubber.

Allah Terry

Allah Terry