Dinosaur ROAR!!

Just a brief update (brief because I’ve promised myself another episode of “Jericho” season one before the sleeping meds have their way with me).

Last Tuesday The Man Cub finally turned the corner on his flu and had his first Ralph Yorick Selling Buicks-free day in a week, the same night that both The Missus and I began our bouts with his flu.

She got over hers quick enough, within 24 hours. Being the drama queen that I am, however, mine hung on for days. Not the actual illness, but once my stomach started rejecting previously ingested foodstuffs, it wasn’t about to stop. After a lifetime of careful, consistent abuse – starting with an ulcer in my early 20s and continuing on through a decade of amphetamine abuse and various extended periods of alcohol overconsumption, recreational pharma overindulgence (all in my past, gratefully), Mountain Dew addiction and gobbling aspirin like they were sweet buttered popcorn at a double feature – my squirrley stomach punished me for the better part of a week.

I basically had violent hangover symptoms from Tuesday midnight till sometime Saturday. Still not 100% and getting by by the grace of Zantac, o’ blessed bane of acid indigestion. I think if I hadn’t quit drinking when I did, they’d be fitting my stomach for an iron lung right now.

In spite of which, at the peak of my symptoms, I dragged my sorry, feverish, decrepit ass off my damn deathbed and went trick-or-treating with The Man Cub and The Missus for about a half hour till my legs started giving out from lack of food in my system. Spinny head, ringing ears, wobbly knees – can’t believe I used to pay good money to get these same results. We determined I haven’t hoiked since I stopped drinking a lifetime ago (a year before I even met my future bride-to-be), and my stomach was definitely not up to the challenge any more.

Ah youth. It’s wasted on the young, ill-informed and recreationally medicated.

On the plus side, I got my Mom on the phone in the midst of my misery, and it was fun going to her when I felt like I was at death’s door. Don’t know how many more opportunities I’ll have to go to her for succor when I’m feeling sick, so I took maximum advantage of this opportunity. We had a very nice moment, and she didn’t mention Jesus even once!

Anyhow, The Man Cub still didn’t quite ‘get’ the Halloween thing, probably in part because he doesn’t really do candy yet (yay, us!), and had just recovered from a nasty, prolonged bout with the flu himself. It all just seemed to overwhelm him. Mostly he wanted to be carried, which I, weak as a kitten, had to job-out to The Missus.

Sissy boy. And I call myself a Bastardson. My daddy would be ashamed of me, if I had any idea who he was, or vice versa.

But in the end, a good time was had by all. I didn’t bail on my son’s second Halloween, lived through it, and by week’s end I was eating food again and the prognosis going forward looks promising.

Once again, my son and I owe it all to his Mommy, the glue that holds this family together. And after 3 days of non-caloric intake, I’ve got my weight back down to less than 200 pounds!

Here’s hoping my next post finds either happier things to report, or less personally disgusting ones. And now my self-appointed writing deadline has expired, and the nightmare-inducing next episode of “Jericho” awaits.

~fang