Monday, January 17, 2011

The BD

I am convinced that fate, destiny, God, Allah.  Whomever, Whatever...has absolutely zero sense of humor.

As I was on Wikipedia last week searching 'Brainerd' to get a picture of the water tower, I got to read a bit more about the town's history than I had bargained for:
Of interest is the outbreak of the Brainerd diarrhea that involved 122 people in 1983. Unpasteurized milk was implicated as the cause, and no fear of reemergence exists.
Of course, that is funny.  Right!?

Not only that it was mentioned on Brainerd's Wikipedia page, but that they actually coined the term, 'Brainerd diarrhea'. 

I laughed uproariously at this.  I shared it with Henry and he laughed it must be funny.  My baby has a great sense of humor.

WELL.  Not even one week later.  It hit.  What I am convinced must have been a case of The Brainerd Diarrhea.

Haha.  Not so funny anymore.

All while my 12.3 pound noggin full of snot and misery pounded away.  Awful doesn't even come close to describing this scene.

So of course all of this comes to a head the evening before I am scheduled to return to work.  I like to think I can pull myself up by the bootstraps and get through pretty much 12 hours of anything.  Except this.  With visions of shitting my scrubs running through my head, I called in sick at 11:30 on Saturday night. 

Great, now I have to explain to Michael, who would go to work if he had Ebola and his eyeballs were squirting blood, that I called in sick.  He is currently sleeping like a rock beside me.  Completely oblivious to my frequent trips to the bathroom and subsequent moaning and stomach clutching.

I think marriage vows pretty much cover the gambit.  However, I'm not sure they cover diarrhea.

I think it is understood that couples can talk about bowel movements.  But these conversations must take place in code.

'Oh no, drive faster.  I'm about to have a PA (poop attack).'

'Oh no, my stomach just dropped.  Be back in 30.'

Or you can just grab a book and saunter into the bathroom.  Let the action speak for itself. 

One is never to say to his or her no uncertain terms,  "I have diarrhea."

Ummm. Okay. 

I'm sure it left him feeling grossed out that his wife just said, "I have diarrhea."

And me horrified and embarrassed enough to require an immediate annulment.

Don't ask me why!  I deal with bowel movements on almost an hourly basis when I am at work.

I even have a little 'poop jig'. 

When my patient tells me they just pooped.  I say, "YAY and do my little poop jig."  Pooping at the hospital is a BIG deal.  I have no reservations talking to my patients...colleagues...doctors...strangers on the street about poop.  Turns out I do have reservations talking to Michael about it.

So, my husband, my love.  My partner in life.  I will never again utter those words.  It was worse for me to say than it was for you to hear.

And I love you times-a-million because you came back from the store and wordlessly handed me a box of Imodium.

For my condition that shall never be mentioned again. 

Unless it's like,

"Oh no, I have a major case of The BD coming."

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