My body is turning against me. It was only after I woke up to the hospital that I realized how bad the pains had been. For 3 days and two nights I endured, thinking that the twisting gnawing would pass. I had had bouts of pain like this before, a gripping ache that would start within my abdomen, turning and recoilling as if the snake that is my bowels was reacting to being stabbed. And stabbing it felt close to. After an initial consult, they surmissed that it was either an appendicitis or diverticulitis. Either way I would spend the next few days here. I groaned at that. The last time I was in a hospital I was 5, and they kept me in a cage to teach me some manners. Thats not totally true, but I was in a cage. I had been hoping for appendicitis, that way all the pain that I've gone through, I would knew I wouldn't have to go through again. And the chance of future mortal danger. What it was though, was diverticulitis. I needed another pain killer in the morning to take away the effects of the last pain reliever that I had the night before. The morphine the had filled my veins like warm lead. Making my whole body instantly heavy but allowing me to sleep through the night without pain. At least 4 hours constituted a night, not unencumbered, or without visitors, nursing staff, and the disembodied that I knew must have been in the room with me walking around aimlessly. With that short reprise though, came the dull ache in my head in the morning. A mid day meal consisted of clear liquids, jello, juice, and tea. Camomile, which i always despised since the first time I tried it. Vile weeds steeped in hot water. I put the tea bag into the water anyway. The cold grape juice was much too cold I knew for my system to be able to handle it without revolting. The camomile tea was much too hot to as well. The plastic container that held the grape juice was just small enough to fit inside of the camomile tea cup. Hospitals are disease laden places, as much as they try not to be, they are inherently, crowded. I didn't want to dip the outside of the plastic which had been touched by calloused hands handling other things as well into the hot tea that I might consume. The thought that my bowels are irritated and roughed open raw with infection, made me feel more vulnerable. This was now going to be a lifelong battle, always having to be aware of what I eat, how I eat, how much I eat. Appendicitis would have been easy, it would have been over and done with and I would never have to worry about that again. The thought that this could or would take over every facet in my life, made me bemoan the fact that my body- Had turned on me. One of the main problems with diverticulitis is that seeds, nuts, popcorn, small things can get lodged in the walls of your intestines, sit there and fester, eventually rot and become inflamed and infect your bowels. Seeds of all kinds are to be avoided. No popcorn. No nuts. ...No nuts! A usual staple beforehand I had lived on a diet of trail mix for breakfast, with no ill side effects or troubles. However a staple of my diet, it was becoming forbidden. I could have lived on trail mix for three meals a day. The salty mixture of the nuts and the sweetness of of the rasins and chocolate like opposites but that were complimentary to each other oh so well. Diverticulitis. It hadnt taken anything away. It was my body rejecting the one good thing that it was taking in. The camomile wasn't so bad. It's certainly wasn't pleasant, but it didn't have that repulsive taste that I'd remembered. With it came the reintroduction of fluids, liquid food, or a liquid only diet, and my reaction to it, was to tell the doctors how well I'm doing and when I could go home. The first reaction was palpable. The old pains were back but not as fierce, the rolling in my gut at the onset of this food intruder made me wary and skeptical that this was the end of my trial. At the end of my 3 day ordeal when I faced the facts and had to submit myself to going to the hospital, on a scale of 1 to 10 I said my pains were a six. A six? ...almost doubled over and grimacing in pain. Now with mere liquids my stomach is offended, and they wanted to send me home before I am fixed. If I exaggerate, saying that my pain is greater than it was, maybe that is the amount of pain 'normal' people feel. My pains last night were probably an eight or nine. The pain scale is so subjective... Why did the first doctor set me up for 2 days in the hospital, get me to face my reality of not wanting to be there, accept the fact that I was going to be here for a couple days, and now they seem to try to kick me out on the street while my wounds are still healing? This second round of camomile with a little bit of sugar was actually palatable... So Costco was closing at 830, and if I was to be out tonight and still have time to get my medicine I had to leave quickly. Since they were throwing me out anyway there was no need to dilly daddle. The IV had been disconnected about an hour beforehand, Jennifer was almost finished with work but going to Santa Clarita on her way home, so Sharlean was on her way to pick me up. I stood and dressed readily, amazed at how well I felt. Started to remove the tape that held the IV insertion stub in my arm, recognizing a slight irony in my head. I have been considering doing some serious man-scaping, removing excess unwanted hair off of my body. Of all of the procedures that I thought of and comprehended, shaving was straight out. The thought of the hairs returning after a day or two to drive me insane with a full body itching? There was no way I was going to do that. Hair removal products like Nair had essentlly the same returning effect as the hairs grow back flat faced. Easier to remove but the same outcome in the end. Seemingly endless itching. Enough to make you want to claw your own skin off. Having had various facial hair beards and goatees I knew this all too well. The thought of my entire back going through it was too much. No the only way would be waxing. And now I was wincing at the fact of pulling the tape off of my arm. I managed the removal and wondered why I still use duct-tape. This stuff is much stronger and sticks holdheartedly better, as evidenced by the hair and epidermis attached to it. The stint for the IV was out next leaving very little blood, amazingly as this highway tube had swollen my inner arm and bruised it well. The necessary paperwork grabbed from Jannicka the nurse from Sweden (yes Sweden), we were on our way to Costco at 8:18. I imagined myself running towards the closing metal roll-up door shouting "Outcast! Unclean! I need my medicine!" but there was no need. It was 8:25 according to the stores clock so we had made it in time. It would have been comical though... Now I sweat in my own bed, more or less comfortable, and the gurgling in my mid-section says I might be in for a fitful night. This is an overdramatic story of truth enhanced by days of sleep deprivation and drugs, days of exhaused internal labor and a fight with my own sanity, to which I have gleefully acquiesed. Good night zweet moon... Therein is a story where the hero the story is not a herol at all. He is a bumbling fool sometimes makes mistakes and decisions that end up being wrong. Makes absolutely horrible choices sometimes