I'm Overwhelmed

My stool didn't get loose.

I took my COL- CHICINE every hour on the hour, like I was told to. But the only thing that worked me last night were the water pills. I was up every hour on the hour to get up and take a leak. And as if a shadow cast by me, so was Smitty. Every hour, on the hour, he was up with me, or maybe I was up with him. Whatever the case, my shoulder got progressively worse, until, while deep in sleep I rolled over on it. The rush of pain was so great that it launched me out of dreams.

Fuck, nothing in my life prepared me for shit like that. I've felt pain before, but while sleep? This is ridiculous. I forgot to take my TRAMADOL last night. Yeah, you got it right, it's not TRAZADONE, it's TRAMADOL. I take them both, but I only take one for the pain. TRAMADOL. Well, I forgot to ask for them last night, so I was left to suffer in pain. Anyway, they give up during the night, so I would have had to same pain this morning.

My toe still hurts too.

It doesn't stop now does it? I'm to be accustomed to this from this point on. In the morning I ask for two TRAMADOLs and in less than fifteen minutes the pain is gone, but my eyes are rolling in my head. I can't stand well, and I'm tired as a motherfucker. I can't focus on what I'm doing and I catch myself dropping off to sleep. I'm definitely in bad shape.

I'm sitting in Starbucks and as my vision bounces around like a badly tuned television. I can only tell that the worse is on its way. I pack up my shit and head back to the box. I grow steadily tired and my head begins to pound. This is not good. Quasimodo makes his way up the stairs and to his bed and after putting his gear behind it, he crawls in. The time now is around 10:00AM.

At 2:45PM I awaken. The TRAMADOL pulls no punches. I jump up the best that I can and head out. It's drizzling rain and a blustering wind, but I work my way through it to the SHOUT OUT. Cyndi Lauper comes in late as usual and I'm certain that she is under the impression that we'll leave out on time. Tough thinking.

We pull off another amazing SHOUT OUT. And my brother and I are once again pleased. Like my brother said to the audience, it is because of them that we run the SHOUT OUT, and they return so much talent and joy back that it makes our entire fucking day. Bill Pyles did an excellent job in his delivery, with half being reading and the other half being song. His rousing music had everyone stirring.

Afterwards we associated outside of OTTO's and I hung around a bit until an ominous stirring in my stomach signaled my quick departure, which, believe it or not, was not as all as quick as I needed it to be, simply because of the gout slowing my speed of movement. It's hard covering ground when you are favoring one leg.

Next, a mutual friend of my brother and I brought a bag of clothes. My brother went though it to take what little he could carry in his meager bags, and left the rest of the bag with me. Now imagine this picture, more than a mile to travel on foot, swollen gout in the right toe, limping, a busted shoulder, a back pack, a shoulder bag and a fat garbage bag in the driving rain. Enough to make any man stop and consider his chances of meeting his goal of his bed. This was the thought that ravaged my mind while I trudged on through the rain, that there was no where to go and no easier way of getting to my bed than I had available to me at this moment.

But by some grace of God, I made it through the rain and to my bed as wet as a fish. I slumped tiredly on the side of my bed and took stock of my shit. My bag carrying my baby was sopping wet, but there was little that I could do for that. I found a dry shirt and sweater in the bag of clothes and donned them. As for the slacks, I still had to wear my wet ones into bed. Uncomfortable, but I was feeling zonked enough that it really didn't matter. When my head hit the pillow I was out for the count.

Somewhere in the middle of the night there was a sharp pain in my stomach. It was a call to arms. I rushed to the bathroom, although getting up with my shoulder was like the struggle of an overturned turtle. I made it to the bathroom and as God is my witness, I almost rose in the air from the velocity of my stool. When the doctor told me loose stool he didn't tell me explosive diarrhea. But I'll be damned it he wasn't right about the foot pain. It was all but gone. I had gotten up, walked to the bathroom and got up on my tippy toes to bail out my stomach and didn't feel a thing.

After quite a long period on the throne I went back to bed. This would be the finish of a long night.

Hobobob