Somewhat Interesting
Archives
Drive a taxi. It's fun. Really.
June 07, 2004
Ow Ow Ow
Now I'm half-writing to describe things to myself so that I can remember it later. It feels as though my frontal lobe decided to purge itself of all those unresolvable questions and insecurities that I've spent far too much time contemplating. The trouble with that is that they got back-hoed into my brain stem, where the master control for my gastro-intestinal system is. The past week has seen a steady increase in the level of physical pain in my guts that harkens back to those days in 1997 when I could've sworn something was terribly wrong, but didn't know what. So, welcome back, IBS, you fucking S.O.B., I'm assuming it's you again.
I have one thing going for me right now. My mind is actually somewhat clear, much moreso than I am accustomed to it being. There's just a lot of pain and a complete lack of perceptible movement in my intestines. Sometimes if I hammer my colon with a brick I keep handy for such things, I get a 'eh. you called?' diffident kind of response from it. Otherwise the whole damn system is stalled. I feel full all the time and queasy while eating. So, uhm, so much for eating.
Yeah, I remember the doc in 1997. He was very reassuring in explaining to me that there doesn't seem to be a (known) organic cause for this malady, and the syndrome is not a precursor to other crazy-as-hell diseases of the whosy-whats-its. And that's fine to know now. It wasn't fine back then, because I was peeved that I couldn't work nearly as much as I had been. I'd go 3 weeks straight, no problem, dude. Then shit went haywire. I'm huge on the conspiracy theories here. I feel as though this is the way my mind decided to rebel against my job, a job that I felt I had settled into nicely at that point in mid-'97. The doc was like nah, man, you're likely depressed.
DEPRESSED? WHAT, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! Uh, okay, actually, that might be true.
I took a subtractive approach to eating and drinking. No more 20oz can of Bud after work. No more dosas. No more random candy bars. Etcetera. I even quit drinking coffee for a good long while (grrrrr.) I think I was the youngest person ever to use Metamucil on a daily basis. One thing I could not bring myself to do was take a laxative, because I'm contrary like that, beyond the fear that I'd become hooked on them.
Well, okay, once. It must've been pretty bad at that point, I don't remember so well.
Eventually, things quieted down after over a half-year of this. But it ended up corrupting a lot of what I was about. Some changes were for the good, others for the worse. I prayed for health. To no entity in particular, I'm not choosy. I killed off the idea of cynicism as any means of advancing something positive. It looked like an admission of a defeated life. Still does. I started to think about the taxi industry itself with a critical eye, as opposed to the day-to-day observations of traffic signal timing, traffic conditions, proper routing based on those observations, and that kind of stuff.
I started listening to musical artists I never would've bothered with before. I rented/watched at least 200 films to distract myself. I couldn't read effectively due to nausea...pre-packaged imagery seemed to work best. Mostly. I remember freaking out due to the Irritable Bowel during 'Hannah and Her Sisters' so I don't remember that one. Or maybe it was the movie that caused it.
But whatever. The main bit I took away from the experience was that the IBS was always going to be a threat. They say there are certain food triggers for this. But I still don't know what mine are, specifically. And I'm not at all sure there is a food/substance-based trigger for this episode, either. All I know is that I can at least semi-function right now, and my mind is about as stable as it gets.
It's times like these when you don't want a puker in your taxi. It should go without saying, then, that is exactly who I had in my cab this past Saturday night. On my first job of the evening. (It was 11pm). This needs no details, but I've been lucky with these unfortunate folks, and my string of non-direct hits continues. Very little damage done, and I managed to make a tidy sum in my amazing 6 hours of work. Remember, I'm supposed to be sick, I have an excuse for working so few hours.
I'll explain in more detail what happened regarding Gabe, and my taxi garage, which I did end up returning to for a couple of weeks last month after being gone for nearly a year. Mining my hypochondria is only so entertaining.
Now I'm half-writing to describe things to myself so that I can remember it later. It feels as though my frontal lobe decided to purge itself of all those unresolvable questions and insecurities that I've spent far too much time contemplating. The trouble with that is that they got back-hoed into my brain stem, where the master control for my gastro-intestinal system is. The past week has seen a steady increase in the level of physical pain in my guts that harkens back to those days in 1997 when I could've sworn something was terribly wrong, but didn't know what. So, welcome back, IBS, you fucking S.O.B., I'm assuming it's you again.
I have one thing going for me right now. My mind is actually somewhat clear, much moreso than I am accustomed to it being. There's just a lot of pain and a complete lack of perceptible movement in my intestines. Sometimes if I hammer my colon with a brick I keep handy for such things, I get a 'eh. you called?' diffident kind of response from it. Otherwise the whole damn system is stalled. I feel full all the time and queasy while eating. So, uhm, so much for eating.
Yeah, I remember the doc in 1997. He was very reassuring in explaining to me that there doesn't seem to be a (known) organic cause for this malady, and the syndrome is not a precursor to other crazy-as-hell diseases of the whosy-whats-its. And that's fine to know now. It wasn't fine back then, because I was peeved that I couldn't work nearly as much as I had been. I'd go 3 weeks straight, no problem, dude. Then shit went haywire. I'm huge on the conspiracy theories here. I feel as though this is the way my mind decided to rebel against my job, a job that I felt I had settled into nicely at that point in mid-'97. The doc was like nah, man, you're likely depressed.
DEPRESSED? WHAT, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! Uh, okay, actually, that might be true.
I took a subtractive approach to eating and drinking. No more 20oz can of Bud after work. No more dosas. No more random candy bars. Etcetera. I even quit drinking coffee for a good long while (grrrrr.) I think I was the youngest person ever to use Metamucil on a daily basis. One thing I could not bring myself to do was take a laxative, because I'm contrary like that, beyond the fear that I'd become hooked on them.
Well, okay, once. It must've been pretty bad at that point, I don't remember so well.
Eventually, things quieted down after over a half-year of this. But it ended up corrupting a lot of what I was about. Some changes were for the good, others for the worse. I prayed for health. To no entity in particular, I'm not choosy. I killed off the idea of cynicism as any means of advancing something positive. It looked like an admission of a defeated life. Still does. I started to think about the taxi industry itself with a critical eye, as opposed to the day-to-day observations of traffic signal timing, traffic conditions, proper routing based on those observations, and that kind of stuff.
I started listening to musical artists I never would've bothered with before. I rented/watched at least 200 films to distract myself. I couldn't read effectively due to nausea...pre-packaged imagery seemed to work best. Mostly. I remember freaking out due to the Irritable Bowel during 'Hannah and Her Sisters' so I don't remember that one. Or maybe it was the movie that caused it.
But whatever. The main bit I took away from the experience was that the IBS was always going to be a threat. They say there are certain food triggers for this. But I still don't know what mine are, specifically. And I'm not at all sure there is a food/substance-based trigger for this episode, either. All I know is that I can at least semi-function right now, and my mind is about as stable as it gets.
It's times like these when you don't want a puker in your taxi. It should go without saying, then, that is exactly who I had in my cab this past Saturday night. On my first job of the evening. (It was 11pm). This needs no details, but I've been lucky with these unfortunate folks, and my string of non-direct hits continues. Very little damage done, and I managed to make a tidy sum in my amazing 6 hours of work. Remember, I'm supposed to be sick, I have an excuse for working so few hours.
I'll explain in more detail what happened regarding Gabe, and my taxi garage, which I did end up returning to for a couple of weeks last month after being gone for nearly a year. Mining my hypochondria is only so entertaining.
Comments:
Post a Comment
