Monday, November 17, 2008
After thinking I had dodged any bacterial or parasitic bullets that might be found in the tremendously clean and hygienic streets of Kolkata, I found that I was wrong. Wrong in a way that I have never been wrong before. Wrong in a way that, were I a smarter man, might have required hospitalization. Wrong in a way that felt a bit like a low grade nuclear weapon exploding in my small intestines and leaving me a mass of strange and disgusting expulsions of bits of me that I never knew existed. Or, at least, would never have guessed at their native colors.
At the peak of pain--perhaps six hours starting late Saturday and ending early Sunday morning--the nearly hourly expulsions from both entry and exit points left me exhausted and with a vivid sense of pain. My joints, eyeballs, stomach, and noggin were begging me for Advil--which I’ve been informed I’m not supposed to have.
The body is a strange and mysterious and brutally vulnerable thing, isn’t it?
After spending all of Friday and Saturday effectively dehydrating myself, I’ve spent the last two days trying to put some sogginess back in my body. With sadly mixed results.
On my last day of taking Zithromax, I’m hoping that I’ve killed off whatever it was that gut punched me over the last four days. If not then I killed off all sorts of good bacteria in a useless effort to make myself feel better.
You probably wanted a point, didn’t you? Here’s the point: sorry for the absence, but if I weren’t weakened from the illness, I would be weary from the lack of sleep. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to go more than three hours without an urgent need overcoming me--and then I find sleep a hard task.
I’ll be back soon with thoughts of India, America’s obtuse energy policy, and how much I look forward to our new Democrat overlords.
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