Siempre Fresco y Aromatico
'Kay, so I went to the doctor yesterday morning--basically for a routine checkup, but also to inquire about something that's been giving me trouble of late. I have this thing just below my chest. It's not an alien waiting to burst out, although it feels like that sometimes. It's a pain that emerges if I eat and/or drink more than I should, or if sit in a weird position (which my current desk almost requires me to do). And on occasion, it attacks me in the middle of the night--say I wake up awkwardly positioned from a crazy dream, my elbows flailed over my head or my left foot bent under the ankle, so I try to adjust myself into a more comfortable position and RRRRRRRIP, it explodes. If you imagine all the little muscles in your midsection as tiny, peaceful Third World hamlets, this pain is like precision napalm bombing one particular muscle/Viet Cong village back into the stone age. It hurts like hell and it burns and it won't go away--but only in a very, very tiny trapezoid right below my chest and abutting the extremities of my ribs.
And don't say it's gas, 'cause it's not gas. I know what gas pain is like (trust me), and this ain't it. It's definitely muscular. For one thing, the spot is often sore for hours after a Napalm Attack--not the sign of gaseousness. And I can feel that it's muscular when I wake up in the middle of the night, and I have to move but I know if I move in a particular direction at this particular moment, it will flare up. You can't cause (or worsen) gas pain by moving in a particular manner--unless that manner is bellying up for more beer and baked beans.
So I asked the sawbones what it might be. He, of course, insisted it might be gas-related. I did my best to describe the purely muscular feel of the pain, but either I didn't choose my words properly or he didn't quite understand me. The more I insisted it was a muscle, the more he insisted it was gas (hey, what the hell does he know?). During my exam, Doc examined the area, first by probing gently, then by punching me in the back. I mean, he literally punched me in the kidney/liver type area. His intent was clearly not to do harm, but if you ball your fist and then use that fist, with a considerable amount of force, to impact another person's flesh--I don't know what to call that. He assured me that, whatever the pain was, it wasn't due to kidney or liver damage. It will be now, I thought.
His diagnosis was gastritis, or possibly a minor gastric ulcer. For the time being, he suggested cutting down on certain foods. Curtail my intake of anything too fatty, or fried, or spicy.
Okay, no problem, I eat relatively healthy.
Also, you may wish to cut back on alcohol.
No biggie. I can limit myself to weekends, no sweat.
Oh, and I would cut down on the coffee. A lot.
Come again, Doc?
Yes, a high intake of coffee would definitely contribute to your discomfort. So I would cut that out completely, if I could.
I see. You guys don't have one of those Kevorkian machines around here, do you?
Maybe it's not so much that I drink gallons of coffee every day, but more the brand of coffee I drink, which is Bustelo. Café Bustelo is the coffee of choice in most Latin households, introduced to me by The Wife. It's the best thing human beings have ever done. It's dark and rich and beautiful, and when you drink it, there is no god damn doubt in your mind that you are drinking COFFEE. It has so much caffeine in it, it brews itself. If you IVed it into a man who'd been dead for three days, he'd wake right up. Shit is like crack, except cheaper and more deadly.
But I thought to myself, Isn't it worth it to give up something you enjoy so that you aren't cursed with searing pain on a regular basis? And I decided, yes, that was probably a smart thing to do.
So what did I have for dinner last night? Several beers at several locations, followed by two Crif Dogs--one of which was wrapped in bacon and sour cream--and a basket of cheese fries. 'Cause hey, Valentines Day comes only once a year.
I feel awesome today. I'm a smart, smart man.
And don't say it's gas, 'cause it's not gas. I know what gas pain is like (trust me), and this ain't it. It's definitely muscular. For one thing, the spot is often sore for hours after a Napalm Attack--not the sign of gaseousness. And I can feel that it's muscular when I wake up in the middle of the night, and I have to move but I know if I move in a particular direction at this particular moment, it will flare up. You can't cause (or worsen) gas pain by moving in a particular manner--unless that manner is bellying up for more beer and baked beans.
So I asked the sawbones what it might be. He, of course, insisted it might be gas-related. I did my best to describe the purely muscular feel of the pain, but either I didn't choose my words properly or he didn't quite understand me. The more I insisted it was a muscle, the more he insisted it was gas (hey, what the hell does he know?). During my exam, Doc examined the area, first by probing gently, then by punching me in the back. I mean, he literally punched me in the kidney/liver type area. His intent was clearly not to do harm, but if you ball your fist and then use that fist, with a considerable amount of force, to impact another person's flesh--I don't know what to call that. He assured me that, whatever the pain was, it wasn't due to kidney or liver damage. It will be now, I thought.
His diagnosis was gastritis, or possibly a minor gastric ulcer. For the time being, he suggested cutting down on certain foods. Curtail my intake of anything too fatty, or fried, or spicy.
Okay, no problem, I eat relatively healthy.
Also, you may wish to cut back on alcohol.
No biggie. I can limit myself to weekends, no sweat.
Oh, and I would cut down on the coffee. A lot.
Come again, Doc?
Yes, a high intake of coffee would definitely contribute to your discomfort. So I would cut that out completely, if I could.
I see. You guys don't have one of those Kevorkian machines around here, do you?
Maybe it's not so much that I drink gallons of coffee every day, but more the brand of coffee I drink, which is Bustelo. Café Bustelo is the coffee of choice in most Latin households, introduced to me by The Wife. It's the best thing human beings have ever done. It's dark and rich and beautiful, and when you drink it, there is no god damn doubt in your mind that you are drinking COFFEE. It has so much caffeine in it, it brews itself. If you IVed it into a man who'd been dead for three days, he'd wake right up. Shit is like crack, except cheaper and more deadly.
But I thought to myself, Isn't it worth it to give up something you enjoy so that you aren't cursed with searing pain on a regular basis? And I decided, yes, that was probably a smart thing to do.
So what did I have for dinner last night? Several beers at several locations, followed by two Crif Dogs--one of which was wrapped in bacon and sour cream--and a basket of cheese fries. 'Cause hey, Valentines Day comes only once a year.
I feel awesome today. I'm a smart, smart man.