So, after about a week at home, I'm finally able to have a morning to myself with no major obligations. And thank God, too, because it's been a hell of a week.
Homecoming was nice- Wednesday was a busy day. Passed the 75lb weight loss mark, but my doctor's visit on Wed wasn't a hit out of the park. I lost some muscle mass, and I've been feeling cold a lot, and kind of weak in general. Agreed to up my calorie count to 2500 for a month and see what it does and how I feel after, and the doc drew blood. I hit the couch early with Inappropriately Hot Foreign Wife. As is my wont, the Mrs. plunked a solid 1 pint glass of Caiperinha in front of me. Rocket fuel of a booze, as in, one is enough. But we had dinner right after, and, ass that I am, I asked for another.
Pleasantly fueled by a full belly and warmed by the green glow of lime, cane sugar and Brazilian white lightning, the wife and I caught up on gossip and The Boy came and went and all was very Nuclear Family. After my son went to bed, I was feeling mellow and relaxed, and for some stupid reason, emptied the dregs out of a bottle of Irish Whisky- not much, as counted pours go- maybe a 2 second splash. Return to the couch.
...and then I'm in the bathroom, sitting on the floor, and there's blood and barf. I call out to my wife, who comes in...
...and then I'm standing in the shower, and my wife is washing my hair. How the hell did this happen? Feeling not at all drunk, but dizzy nonetheless, and suddenly hot from adrenaline, I ask my wife what's going on, and she asks me if I'm finished being a drunken sick asshole now, and in a fit of genius, I say the wittiest thing I can think of. "What?"
So, while I'm shakily toweling off, my wife is on the phone with a friend who is a medical professional. She talks to me, and determines that I'm alert and have my marbles in a general sense, and we talk about what's going on. I realize that I've blacked out, and yet, with the equivalent of 5 drinks in me, a couple of hours lay time and a full meal which is now on it's way to somewhere north of Boston, I'm nowhere near drunk. Aside from being somewhat shaky and confused, I feel OK. Which is good, because apparently I was verbally abusive and a complete prick while my wife was cleaning me up. I'm shocked at what she says I said- nothing too terrible, to be fair to myself, but, you know, not really me at all. At any rate, I stave off a 911 call by agreeing to go to my doctor's office the next morning.
... where I get chewed out for drinking while I was feeling 'off.' Turns out, I'm anemic as hell, have a mild fever, and a nasty infection in my gut. All of which is very treatable with a minimum of fuss and a maximum of not drinking while I'm home this time. All to the good, but you know how we are as men. If I have a stomach cramp, I require 24 hour care, but give me an arm falling off, or maybe leprosy and plague, and I'll tell you I'm fine. I should have looked into why I felt like I had the vapors for the last few weeks. At any rate, I'm OK.
On the upside, my blood pressure went from 185/105 in August to 120/75. But I don't need a 'jumbo' blood pressure cuff. The adult large cuff works fine for me now. Kind of bummed about that.
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