Gut Shot

If you’ve watched a few Westerns, you’ve probably seen some poor bastard shot in the abdomen by a Bad Guy and left to die a slow and miserable death.  He’s been “gut shot!”  It’s a low down dirty trick.

Sunday morning I struggled out and in and back out of a hazy nightmare.  I had been gut shot, and I was dying alone in the desert, far from water or morphine.  Plus which, the bad guy had tied my hands to a stake above my head, and my feet likewise.  I couldn’t even writhe properly!

As I surfaced from the dream, I tried to move and found I couldn’t.  My abdominal cavity was a simmering cauldron of deep ache.  Some lousy sonovabitch gut shot me!  Not the first time, either.  If I can ever manage to catch the motherfucker who does this, I’ll…I’ll call Marshall Dillon, that’s what!

Saturday turned out to be a sick day instead of the quiet restful Sabbath I had planned.  The special food and the bottle of wine remained untouched, while the special RV toilet paper dwindled on the roll.  It wasn’t an unusual sick day.  Not even much in the way of blood or other nastiness.  Just sick in the typical way, for me.

So I was caught off guard by the gut shot deal.  (Yeah, right, do I ever get any warning?  No.)  It lasted fucking forever.  I couldn’t even think straight enough to remember my treasured stash of tramadol.  Hell, even had I remembered it, I wouldn’t have been capable of rolling over, sitting up, standing up, and walking to the cabinet to fetch it.  I was gut shot.

It was good that the pain woke me at dawn.  That gave me plenty of time to lie there in bloody hell agony contemplating how I was going to manage to get my sorry ass to North Carolina in order to register my new RV before the dealer tags wear off.

About 11 o’clock I had to haul out of bed to walk and feed my patient dog.  She had crept silently and gently into my bed, knowing I was in trouble and careful not to jostle me.  I don’t know how she knows these things.  She just does.  She stretched herself out alongside me like a giant heating pad.  It was very comforting, while I was tied hand and foot, shot in the gut, to have a giant heating pad.

So that was yesterday morning.  I got on my way a bit after noon, and drove a few hours before finding a place to rest.  I dosed myself up with my special “tummy drops,” drank a glass of kefir with lactase, fed and walked Miss Dog, gave both of us our pills, and hit the rack.  This morning was early and weary, but at least not painful.

I chose a route that took me through a lovely part of Ohio, passing through familiar towns in the hilly country approaching the Ohio River Valley.  I have lived quite a few years in Ohio, and have some fond memories of baling hay in the Dog Days of summer, finding new ways to cook the extremely prolific patty pan squash that invaded my garden, and losing our trampoline to a tornado that wandered through our front yard, only to have it returned, somewhat the worse for wear, by a farmer who lived a few miles down the road, who found it in his field as he was out with the combine.

I couldn’t resist doing at a farm stand that offered fresh-picked sweet corn and other veggies.  I steamed up a couple of ears, buttered and salted them, and crunched into the Kandy Korn kernels with relish (not pickles, just relish), all the while squelching that annoying little voice that whispered, “Laura!  Laura, do you think this is the wise thing to do, so soon after having been gut shot?”

Oh little voice, do fuck off!  I need to enjoy my Ohio corn fix, since I didn’t go through Illinois this trip for that most toothsome of sweet corns: Illini Super Sweet (pronounced: ill-EYE-nye, named for the University of Illinois football team, developed by the agricultural college) (and since the University of Illinois is one of my Almas Mater, I have eaten at least one ton of Illini Super Sweet).  So at least let me enjoy my fresh-picked (not exactly today, but it was certainly fresh-picked some time ago) Ohio Kandy Korn, and I won’t do it again for a long, long time.

Just to round out the dietary indiscretions, I bought a lovely ripe tomato that was winking at me.  Oh, how I love a good ripe ‘mater with salt and sushi vinegar on it!  Alas, it was the agent of my discovery of the latest episode of…aphthous ulcer mouth badness!  Ugh.  In the garbage with the lovely ripe ‘mater.

Just so I don’t wake up sick or gut shot tomorrow, OK?  I won’t eat the green beans either.  Whoever thought that “eating your veggies” could make you sick?

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15 Comments

  1. If nothing else you still have your humor
    I love you Laura
    Take care
    May the Schwartz be with you
    The Sheldon Perspective

    Reply
  2. Sorry you have been ill. Take the tramadol to prevent more gut shot, if you can. Thinking of you love.

    Reply
    • Thank you, sweetie G! I’m afraid to take it because if I run out, I can’t get more. So I dole it out very carefully…at this rate it will last me the rest of my life!

      Reply
  3. Thoroughly enjoyed your gut shot tale, but was sorry it wasn’t just a dream. Hope you are feeling better to continue your travels. I had a similar thing happen a few weeks ago, when I was dreaming someone was smoothering me and I was fighting for air. It seemed like the dream must have gone on for awhile because I fe!t exhausted by the time I woke up and I was having an asthma attach.

    Reply
  4. Terrible when you find out you can’t digest that all those veggies and grains you thought were good for you. With SIBO, my gut is a veritable brewery.

    Reply
  5. Yikes. I hope the Korn didn’t bring on any adverse effects. xxx

    Reply

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