I’ve been sick off and on for the past couple weeks with some sort of gross, mouth-breathing cold-like virus so while I whine about it, it seemed a good time to put things in perspective and be glad I don’t have E.coli…..Again.
No really, it’s true. I had E.coli. And if I could go back in time I’d ask Chef Poopyfingers to please wash his fucking hands after itching his sweaty shit covered balls. But I can’t.
Let’s return to 1995. Me: wearing two plaid flannel shirts layered on top of one another, a white v-neck t-shirt underneath, Levis and steel-toed work boots. My extreme graduated bob a big hit amongst my peers; my apathy only slightly less extreme than said haircut. Kurt Cobain had nothing on me.
But that has nothing to do with my E.coli.
Fast forward 10 years to 2005: the year of the E.coli. A lot of shit happened that year (all shit puns fully intended), I quit like 3 jobs (so really it’s not that different from the current year), I dated some real dickholes, and perhaps most memorably, I got fucking E.coli. From sushi.
At an establishment that is still in existence but that shall remain nameless (SUSHI TANGO).
And let me tell you, it was a real fucking shit fest, friends. We’re talking poopfuckingtastic.
Now, I’ll spare you the details….
JUST KIDDING.
Cause the only thing I love talking about more than myself is poop.
In movie-speak what comes next could be considered a “hard R” rating. Think if Trading Places was a soft R, this is much more graphic.
Here’s the thing: once you’ve shit every single thing out of your body that you’ve ever eaten in your entire life followed by the last minute tiniest piece of poop there is still one thing left to shit out: blood.
What?
No questions please.
Cause that shit’s scary. It’s been 10 years since that happened and still every time I poop I look in the toilet JUST TO MAKES SURE IT’S NOT FULL OF BLOOD LIKE WHEN I HAD E.COLI.
Have you stopped reading yet?
For the record, let me point out that I did not diagnose myself with E.coli. I mean I am very close to being a doctor (Funeral Director is a close second), but in this case I had an actual medical professional diagnose me. With a scope. A really lengthy scope. I believe his words were “Well, gosh, usually people are fully sedated for this procedure but since you’re doing so well, mind if we keep going?”
Um, guess not.
So on top of having E.coli, I had a full colonoscopy with exactly zero sedation. A Lucid Colonoscopy, if you will. I would very highly not recommend it.
During the procedure Dr. Scopes-A-Lot asked me, “Have you eaten a lot of ground beef lately?”
“Do I look like I’ve eaten a lot of ground beef lately?”
“I don’t know what that means.”
THIS IS WHY YOU SCOPE BUTTHOLES FOR A LIVING.
I began to feel better not long after the exam. Mostly I was hungry as shit from having only eaten like 12 Teddy Grahams in the last 52 hours, which seemed the only thing that didn’t make me poop my brains out because apparently Chef Poopyfingers isn’t moonlighting at Nabisco. And nothing makes you feel better faster than an extremely dangerous mammal from whom you would run screaming that’s been pared down to an adorable cartoon version you can eat.
But guys, I’m mostly fine. I say mostly because I still have myriad of problems emotionally, some physically, I’m crazy, etc. etc. but I haven’t had E.coli again since then. In the end I got the lab report back from Dr. Probes-A-Ton which said:
“E.coli was present in the bowel.”
In the notes it also said:
“Prep for the exam was excellent.”
Apparently shitting yourself silly has some perks and earns you some cred in the proctology department. So I got that going for me, which is nice.
Stay tuned for the sequel to this post: One Time My Friend Barie Had Amoebic Dysentery….In Minnesota.
