Emesis.

[Sigmund]

I love to vomit...........

Hi!

Any food or place in particular?

Thank you.

Peace.

 

[blunthead]

Me too - I hate to puke! I fight it with all my might, so when I finally do - clear the deck, because it's coming fast. When I was 8 years old, I puked Doritos through my nose. I haven't had a Dorito in 32 years because of that - I can't stand the smell and every time I see a bag, I think of that feeling (and horrid smell). And being pregnant - oh God - I'd love more babies, but I can't handle more puking.

Okay people y'all asked for it. Blame Siggy. Here goes... I moved to California. After two weeks, having never been west of the Rockies before, and being of a compromised immune system due to a childhood splenectomy, I came down with a flu. Before symptoms of it arrived, I was treated to a nice spaghetti dinner by a friend. That night the infernal wrenching began, and there I was more than a few times over the toilet projectile vomiting spaghetti noodles out of my nose. I couldn't believe it. I thought isn't it bad enough I gotta feel this horrible, I also gotta be pulling worms outta my nose too?! As is always the case it seemed to go on for hours. Maybe it did. I remember someone coming to the door asking if I was alright or was I dying. I answered I wasn't sure and it didn't matter.

 

[Sigmund]

arr, tis the retching I agree with.

Yes, and Vulture - where do those carrots come from?? Not to mention peanuts.. the body must store them in a special place for these occasions.

Hey, Good looking!

Thank you. You're a hoot!

Peace.

 

[Sigmund]

Siggy
You really do inspire such interesting and colorful discussions.

Hi!

It's a burden I must shoulder. Ha!

Peace.

Glad to see you back. You were missed.

 

[Sigmund]

I have two intensely personal vomit stories, but this one is nicer.

I was with people in Cheyenne, Wyoming. It was supposed to go for the day, and as it turned out, it's a good thing it didn't. We broke for lunch, and I wandered off on my own. About a block and a half away, I found a Chinese food place that advertised a very reasonably priced buffet.

Lesson No. 1: Don't do a Chinese food buffet in Cheyenne, Wyoming. In fact, I have an very dear friend who's an epidemiologist who preaches about the evils of buffets, and not just in Cheyenne. I should probably listen to her, and this would be reinforced by Emesis Story No. 2, if it ever gets told.

I went through the buffet. The food looked... hard to say. Not that it looked bad, exactly. But if you like coffee, and you stop in at a 7-Eleven and see the coffee that's been on the burner all day, pour yourself a cup, you might look at it and say, "Y'know, I like coffee, but this isn't really what I had in mind." This buffet was to Chinese food what the leftover remains in the 7-Eleven pot is to coffee.

But I was hungry and gulped it down and went back to the meeting, which lasted another hour, and by the end, my stomach was feeling... well, not right.

Time for a science lesson, kids. When food goes down your gullet into your stomach, it passes through the esophageal sphincter. Your stomach is a sac (when you're talking about body parts, you leave off the "k") for food, and when the food leaves the tummy for further digestion, it passes through the pyloric sphincter.

Back in anatomy class, I was not told that the pyloric sphincter was equipped with a padlock. That was an obvious lapse in my education.

To carry this tangent further, and more painfully, I have a weird body system, but it works well for me except for the fat layers and body hair issues. I really don't get sick (we won't talk about the heart attack in this story; just go along with me for now). When I don't feel well, I sleep it off. The Kids refer to it as my "mutant healing factor."

Apparently, there were things in that Chinese buffet that didn't talk the same language as my metabolism. My body detected things it didn't like, set off the Homeland Security alarms, put the aforementioned padlock on the aforemention pyloric sphincter, and said, "You shall not pass!" and you can't make it any more literal than that. The contents of my stomach just stayed there, churning and building up.

I left the meeting, drove back to the office, and complained about not feeling all that well. I was met with clucks of sympathy by Emily (office manager) and Becca (high school runner and grunt worker).

I retired to my office to work, but deep within my body, the Chinese food was increasingly frustrated at not being able to leave through the back door after having been let in the front. It grew increasingly noisome and vociferous. It demanded to leave. One way or another. (Hint: "Another" was the ultimate choice.)

All I knew is that I seemed to be growing a 40-pound rock in my belly, and my jowls were starting to tingle. It just was not good. Miserable, even. I considered a trip to the bathroom, which involved walking through the office complex and down the stairs. But I didn't know how dire it was. Maybe I wouldn't make it down the stairs before the "everyone out!" alarm went off. Or maybe I would be staying in the bathroom for an hour, wondering if anything was going to happen.

The trash can by my desk, lined with plastic, supplied the answer. I drew it close, just in case. As it turned out, I didn't have to wait long.

Back in my innards, the food that was denied passage starting rioting about its close quarters. It finally said, "Hey! If we can't get through the back door, let's go back out the front! We'll use this stalk of spoiled broccoli for a battering ram!"

I couldn't hear that outcry, exactly. I was just alerted to the results. I pulled the trash can over as the aggrieved population of chicken szechuan, kung pao shrimp, spicy beef and broccoli, and fried rice came rushing up and out to freedom, which it found briefly before being projected into the trash can's plastic lining. Weirdly enough, the contents pretty much looked and tasted the same on the exit as they had on the entry.

And next weirdly enough, I felt instantly better. The discomfort was gone. In fact, in a few minutes, the stomach started saying, "Hey! I'm empty here! When we gonna eat?" Stupid body.

There was only one thing left to do, and that was to treat young Becca, who looked up to me as a mentor and patriarchal figure, if only to my deluded ego, to the sight of watching her boss walk through the office and out to the dumpster in back, carrying a plastic bag full of warm vomit. Boy, did I feel dignified.

That's Emesis Story No. 1.

Hi, Grandpa.

Love, love your posts/stories. Thank you.

( Psst! I was talking to another SKMB member and we both had the same idea. Are you SK playing with us on this wonderful MB?

Peace.

 

[Sigmund]

Siggie ... you seem obsessed with anal and oral activities .... I think Mr. Freud would have found you very interesting indeed ...

Hi, Sweetness!

(Giggle) Actually, it was a book about Sigmund Freud I read when I was...9/10 years old... when I was enthralled with psychology. (Ergo, my screen name-Sigmund.)

(BTW-that penis envy thing he had going on...NO! But that's just me. Ha!)

Peace.

P.S. Hugs to you and Teddy!

 

[king family fan]

here's my rather embarrassing vomit moment. My daughter was a teenager and I had had a migraine. Nasty headaches I get deathly sick with them. Very few I don't end up in ER. Anyhow I had told her no and she continued to argue with me. I told her ,your making me sick,get out of my face. She thought I was kidding and all of a sudden, when were both covered. I sure wish she would have moved.It was horrible and I will never forget it.

 

[Agincourt Concierge]

Hi, Sweetness!

(Giggle) Actually, it was a book about Sigmund Freud I read when I was...9/10 years old... when I was enthralled with psychology. (Ergo, my screen name-Sigmund.)

(BTW-that penis envy thing he had going on...NO! But that's just me. Ha!)

Peace.

P.S. Hugs to you and Teddy!

LOL .... Siggie now you made me laugh ... hence your screen name !! I didn't put two and two togethere there now ! Heck I was thinking Sigmund and the sea monsters !

Hugs back at you !

 

[Sigmund]

I have two intensely personal vomit stories, but this one is nicer.

I was with people in Cheyenne, Wyoming. It was supposed to go for the day, and as it turned out, it's a good thing it didn't. We broke for lunch, and I wandered off on my own. About a block and a half away, I found a Chinese food place that advertised a very reasonably priced buffet.

Lesson No. 1: Don't do a Chinese food buffet in Cheyenne, Wyoming. In fact, I have an very dear friend who's an epidemiologist who preaches about the evils of buffets, and not just in Cheyenne. I should probably listen to her, and this would be reinforced by Emesis Story No. 2, if it ever gets told.

I went through the buffet. The food looked... hard to say. Not that it looked bad, exactly. But if you like coffee, and you stop in at a 7-Eleven and see the coffee that's been on the burner all day, pour yourself a cup, you might look at it and say, "Y'know, I like coffee, but this isn't really what I had in mind." This buffet was to Chinese food what the leftover remains in the 7-Eleven pot is to coffee.

But I was hungry and gulped it down and went back to the meeting, which lasted another hour, and by the end, my stomach was feeling... well, not right.

Time for a science lesson, kids. When food goes down your gullet into your stomach, it passes through the esophageal sphincter. Your stomach is a sac (when you're talking about body parts, you leave off the "k") for food, and when the food leaves the tummy for further digestion, it passes through the pyloric sphincter.

Back in anatomy class, I was not told that the pyloric sphincter was equipped with a padlock. That was an obvious lapse in my education.

To carry this tangent further, and more painfully, I have a weird body system, but it works well for me except for the fat layers and body hair issues. I really don't get sick (we won't talk about the heart attack in this story; just go along with me for now). When I don't feel well, I sleep it off. The Kids refer to it as my "mutant healing factor."

Apparently, there were things in that Chinese buffet that didn't talk the same language as my metabolism. My body detected things it didn't like, set off the Homeland Security alarms, put the aforementioned padlock on the aforemention pyloric sphincter, and said, "You shall not pass!" and you can't make it any more literal than that. The contents of my stomach just stayed there, churning and building up.

I left the meeting, drove back to the office, and complained about not feeling all that well. I was met with clucks of sympathy by Emily (office manager) and Becca (high school runner and grunt worker).

I retired to my office to work, but deep within my body, the Chinese food was increasingly frustrated at not being able to leave through the back door after having been let in the front. It grew increasingly noisome and vociferous. It demanded to leave. One way or another. (Hint: "Another" was the ultimate choice.)

All I knew is that I seemed to be growing a 40-pound rock in my belly, and my jowls were starting to tingle. It just was not good. Miserable, even. I considered a trip to the bathroom, which involved walking through the office complex and down the stairs. But I didn't know how dire it was. Maybe I wouldn't make it down the stairs before the "everyone out!" alarm went off. Or maybe I would be staying in the bathroom for an hour, wondering if anything was going to happen.

The trash can by my desk, lined with plastic, supplied the answer. I drew it close, just in case. As it turned out, I didn't have to wait long.

Back in my innards, the food that was denied passage starting rioting about its close quarters. It finally said, "Hey! If we can't get through the back door, let's go back out the front! We'll use this stalk of spoiled broccoli for a battering ram!"

I couldn't hear that outcry, exactly. I was just alerted to the results. I pulled the trash can over as the aggrieved population of chicken szechuan, kung pao shrimp, spicy beef and broccoli, and fried rice came rushing up and out to freedom, which it found briefly before being projected into the trash can's plastic lining. Weirdly enough, the contents pretty much looked and tasted the same on the exit as they had on the entry.

And next weirdly enough, I felt instantly better. The discomfort was gone. In fact, in a few minutes, the stomach started saying, "Hey! I'm empty here! When we gonna eat?" Stupid body.

There was only one thing left to do, and that was to treat young Becca, who looked up to me as a mentor and patriarchal figure, if only to my deluded ego, to the sight of watching her boss walk through the office and out to the dumpster in back, carrying a plastic bag full of warm vomit. Boy, did I feel dignified.

That's Emesis Story No. 1.

Good evening, Sir.

If you have not figured out yet...I'm goofy.

The old time members know me and...forgive me my threads. They are also kind to post on my threads.

Thank you, everyone! Yay!

Grandpa,

I started a thread- Constipation. on the old board and we had a hoot!

If you have the time, energy or patience...would you be so kind to share your thoughts on a Constipation thread, please?

Thank you.

Peace.

 

[Grandpa]

Hi, Grandpa.

Love, love your posts/stories. Thank you.

Thank you for the kind words!

( Psst! I was talking to another SKMB member and we both had the same idea. Are you SK playing with us on this wonderful MB?

Peace.

In my dreams. No, not even those.

We're probably not too far off in age. I think he's a couple years older. So we perhaps share some age-related sensibilities.

I live in Northern Colorado with my wife, empty nesters both, but fortunate enough to still have the majority of our kids and grandkids within 10 minutes of us. I work a lot, I drive a lot, and in between, I try to write stories. I have a blog, and if you were to stumble on to it, you'd quickly realize that Mr. King and I are miles apart, and he's many thousands of higher, in the writing strata.

But thank you for one of the best compliments I've ever had.

 

[Grandpa]

Grandpa,

I started a thread- Constipation. on the old board and we had a hoot!

If you have the time, energy or patience...would you be so kind to share your thoughts on a Constipation thread, please?

Thank you.

Peace.

I can honestly say that this is a singular, unique, once-only request of me for my 125 years (more or less) of life.

On Big Bang Theory, Sheldon Cooper says his bowels run like a German train. I'm not that fortunate, but in the plethora of problems that can bedevil me in a given moment, the dammed alimentary canal is not one of them. So I'll think about some contribution, but I'm afraid I won't be much help.

Although, as I hope that Dave Barry might attest, Inspired By Constipation would be a cool name for a punk rock band.

 

[Grandpa]

By the way. I have been in this forum less than a month, and you guys have me talking about my genitals, episodes of vomit, and now my lower GI tract.

What the hell are you people doing to me?





Fine, fine, I like it here.

 

[blunthead]

By the way. I have been in this forum less than a month, and you guys have me talking about my genitals, episodes of vomit, and now my lower GI tract.

What the hell are you people doing to me?





Fine, fine, I like it here.

Yeah, but yer the one who brought up the Scotch.

 

[GNTLGNT]

By the way. I have been in this forum less than a month, and you guys have me talking about my genitals, episodes of vomit, and now my lower GI tract.

What the hell are you people doing to me?





Fine, fine, I like it here.

...wait'll we get to the "Various Bodily Fluids" Festival!!!!!....

 

[EMARX]

I really hate to bring this up...

 

[Grandpa]

...wait'll we get to the "Various Bodily Fluids" Festival!!!!!....

I'm going lymph.

 

[Sigmund]

What the hell are you people doing to me?

One of us. One of us. One of us...

Peace.

 

[GNTLGNT]

...whole thing makes my blood bile...err...boil....

 

[Grandpa]

One of us. One of us. One of us...

Peace.

Oh, my. That was such a great movie. It could've been so dated. It still holds up.

If we get to oozing wounds, though, then it's over. I don't even want to see it mentioned.

 

[EMARX]

I'm still waiting for Siggy to mention seeping pustules....I guess she doesn't need to now.