Sword on Fire

Hello. It’s been a hot minute since I last wrote a post. Been going through some grieving time about the future of the world and mankind…you know, my usual to-do...But all laughs aside, I was having a really hard time coping and I sorta forgot about my self-soothing method (writing) and instead lashed out to everyone around me (sorry, Paul).

Deep breath. Been doing a lot of breathing lately. Lots and lots of inhales.

Oh. And Tootsie Pops.  Those help too. Especially with whiskey. 

Story time.

I've been careful what I've been eating the past few weeks. I’m sorta scared it’ll wake up the pain again.

Let’s rewind. 

It’s Thursday night. Paul made chili. I had a bowl. Went to bed. Woke up two hours later in agony. I thought I swallowed a sword. Like you know, those sword swallowing people that hang out in tourist spots? Well, I thought I was one of them in my sleep. And I guess to make thing more interesting, said sword was on FIRE when I swallowed it.

That’s what it felt like. Like my gut and my throat were on fire.

So, naturally, I take a pillow and smack Paul awake.

“Wha-What’s wrong?” He sits up all bleary-eyed and adorable, but I don’t have time to tell him that he’s cute. I'm dying. 

 “It hurts. Fix it. It hurts.” I pressed a hand between my chesticles wishing I could extinguish the fire underneath. . “It feels like I’m going to burn inside out. It HURTS. Did I mention that? Cuz it does. It hurts. It hurts. IT FUCKING HURTS!”

“Hold on, let me get you some TUMs. I think  it’s heartburn.” He stumbles out of the bed and goes to the kitchen. 

I do some Lamaze breathing to help with the pain. It doesn't work. 

He comes back and I open the bottle and promptly start chewing two chalky capsules.  I swallow some water that does little to douse the fire in my stomach.

I looked at Paul.  “I think I’m dying.”

He sighed. “You’re not dying.”

“No,” I shook my head, convinced. “I think this is it. I always knew I’d die weird. Death by acid.” I yelped when another wave of pain hit me. “Owwwwwww. It hurts. How long does this stuff take effect? You know what? Nevermind.” I took the TUMs bottle and shook some out and popped it in my mouth without counting.

“Shit, how many did you take?”

I waved Paul away while I chewed. After I swallowed a mouthful of dust, I said. “It’s fine. It’s fine. This is one of those times where one is good so more must be better.”

A few minutes pass. I sit up straight and try to pass the time via Pinterest. Paul starts to fall asleep and I wacked him in the arm again. “Hey, you’re not sleeping are you? I’m in distress here. Fix it, husband.”

“You’re still hurting?”

“More than ever.” I’ve decided that I’m going to share my misery with my beloved.

“Okay, hold on.” So off he goes to rescue me, his fair maiden, from the fiery death of giving birth to a dragon via burping. 

He comes back with Tagament.

“You sure this will help?” I asked him.

“That’s what it says on the box. Here.” He handed me water.

I took the pill. “You know, I could be having a heart attack.”

“You’re not having a heart attack.”

“How do you know?” Arguing with Paul is a favorite past time of mine. Arguing with a sleep deprived Paul, though, is a rare and special treat. I like to see him bothered, but not to the point of pain, just annoyance. It’s weird. If we were in grade school, I think I’d be the girl who picked on him because she liked him.  

“You don’t have left arm pain.”

“That’s not the only symptom of a heart attack. And women have different symptoms than men. They’re usually more GI related. I could be dying right now and instead I’m arguing with you about whether or not I’m dying.” I wince. Despite all this bantering, I’m still in a lot of pain.

“Fine. Do you want to call 911?”

“Of course not. The house is a mess.”

Paul pauses at that. I think he is too tired to ask why that would matter to me. “Alright, what about driving you to the ER?”

“No, I don’t wanna get stuck again.” I point to my inner elbow. “It took a month for that IV site to fade.”

“Well what do you want to do then? If you’re having a heart attack, we should do something.”

“I only want you to do something if I pass out and become unresponsive to your attempts at CPR.”

“So what do you want me to do then? You’re convinced you’re dying.”

I held out my hand. “I just want you to stand vigil by my side and say how brave I’m being for enduring this awful pain.” I put the back of my hand against my forehead. “I think I see a light.”

“Dude, that’s the TV. I’m turning it on so you’ll stop talking.”

-->

“Oh. Okay."  

He goes back to sleep and I watch Mr. Me Seek hold a woman under gun point unless Jerry shows him his improved golf game (...Yeah, if you don't know what that means, I can't really explain. Just watch Rick and Morty. You know about Rick and Morty, don't you? You don't. Quelle horror! How do you live? I feel sorry for you!). 

I guess Tagament worked. I woke up six hours later. It still hurt to eat the next two days but that went away too.

We have no idea what caused it. Maybe it was the chili powder? Who knows...