Blood. It’s In Me To Hurl.

Ever vomit close to a litre of blood and end up in the hospital, drugged and with a tube shoved down your throat and a nurse tickling your toes? Asking for a frenemy.

Okay, there was no toe tickling that I was aware of.

Three nights ago, on a deep winter’s eve, I became, what some might call nauseous. I tried to sleep and my stomach wouldn’t allow it. Soon enough, I was full-on projectile vomiting into my sink. When the entourage subsided, I flipped on the light and what did I see? Not vomit but blood and the bloodiest of kinds.

Needless to say, I was pretty freakin’ freaked so I did what any red blooded American would do: I consulted my teenage son. Then I got gas. Then I hit the hospital, with yogurt container in hand.

Within minutes of being admitted, I was doing the hustle of shame to the nearest rest room whereupon I emptied my guts to the half way point in the sink. Deep crimson this time, creating even more terror then I was already emersed in.

Subsequently, they bumped me to the front of the line (though the line consisted of two other folk) for which I thanked the lucky stars that I saw dancing in front of me. Soon I was in my room with not one but two IV’s connected to the old man. Over the next whatever hours, they pumped me full of antibiotics and anti-bleedy meds. And typical intravenous “liquids” which one would think would quench any thirst a typical patient would be experiencing but not so fast. I had a massive thirst thriving inside me what after all the upchuck action so I requested some iced water. I was given some and loved every last drop, ice included. When I asked for more, I was informed that the h2o itself was out the window (my room didn’t have a window) but ice chips were still on the menu, reasoning being they needed my bowels as dry as possible for the scope they would slip inside me. That was set for noon and this was 6 am. And then they decided that ice wasn’t a good idea either! Denied any oral liquids for the next 5 to 6 hours or possibly later! I’ve never been deep in the Kalahari Desert but man, it sucked being dissalowed anything to bringeth a quench.

And forget trying to sleep. Between the oxygen monitor beeping every time I nodded off due to my sleep apnea and the what seemed like new years party the nurses were having, I was forced awake.

And when the final vomit session transpired, I might as well of been at home with my cat for a nurse. Here I am, bolting to my feet, tubes everywhere, with my cardboard bedpan in hand, the red river doth flow. I prit near filled that thing, the whole time hoping one of the 6 nurses would hear or God forbid see me but nope, not until I made a minor scene of waiving and pointing at my bucket, a bloody smile for show.

Next thing I know, all of them are in my room, muttering things like “Maybe we were too loud”. Maybe? After that mess, I was allowed to remove the oxygen finger thing and sleep, though interrupted often, found me. At some point, I think around 9, another doc came in and I of course asked for something to drink. He said he’d grab me some ice then a minute later popped his head in to say “Sorry, the nurses told me no. Sorry”. At least he was sorry?

At the time of the scope, I don’t remember much. I’m not sure what they gave me but it must have been good stuff. I recall laying on my side and them putting in a mouth guard. Then they were trying to wake me up, announcing they did not find any source of bleeding. Thanks, guys. Cheque please.

Quite literally, next thing I know I am being discharged. I’m still in the dark of what the flip actually happened. There was some talk of I should avoid Ibuprofen and some talk of an esophageal tear brought on by the forcefulness of the vomit. Why I was originally nauseous?? No clue.

The scariest thing (I guess outside of watching blood gush from your mouth and repeatedly) I got from this 24 hour nightmare is that this could happen to anyone, any time. Even me again. (Que creepy music and slowly fade to black).

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