Plumbing is back to normal

After four days of fever-inducing runs, I'm pleased to announce that my internal plumbing is finally happy again. A recap of events:

Lisa picks me up from SFO on Saturday morning, and I am already feeling ill (feverish for much of the flight), but it isn't until later that day that I first experience the symptom that will plague me for days to come. I feel a little better that night and manage to drag myself to Batman Begins with Annaka and Lisa, but then it's immediately back home to pick up where I left off.

Sunday is even worse. Pretty much a repeat of Saturday, except starting right from the morning and without any breaks in the action where I feel better. I'm not even up for a showing of Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room with Andrew and Hubert, and I love that flick.

I have to leave for Scottsdale Monday morning, and I debate staying home, but I figure it can't last too much longer, so I tough it out and hop on a flight filled mostly with Googlers. Not wanting to embarrass myself, I silently take my window(!!!) seat, then pray. Not answered. As casually as I can muster, I ask to be let into the aisle so that I can use the bathroom, and in my haste to get the hell out of there, I knock over my ginger ale onto both my and my coworker's seats, as well as my shorts. After clearing up that mess in a painful clench, I finally make it out, only to have my path blocked by the drink cart, which at least is working the final row, but still. As I stand there waiting, still in a painful clench, I notice the guy (non-Googler) sitting in the aisle seat next to where I am standing staring at the big wet spot on my shorts, noticing the pain I'm in, and probably figuring, boy done gone and pissed his pants! Well, if these ladies don't hurry up with the drinks, I'm basically going to do just that, only worse.

I finally make it to Scottsdale without further incident and make it through the conference opening, but I skip out on the night's social events and head to the safety of my room.

Tuesday shows no signs of let-up, I miss most of the day's events, and I am finally prevailed upon that afternoon to go see a doctor right near the resort. It really does seem like it's never going to end, so I agree to go.

The doc's an old white dude (like most of the citizens of Scottsdale, seemingly), and when I tell him I was in Tokyo the previous week, he asks me if I had eaten "any uh 'dem sushis" while I was there. Why yes I had. Quite a bit, in fact. He scrunches his face, then says, "Well, that's what you get for eatin' 'dem sushis. Don't understood how you people can eat that disgusting stuff." Uh, thanks doc.

I do feel compelled to mention that when he said "you people," I'm pretty sure he was referring to any people who eat sushi, and not yelluhs in particular. He clearly wasn't a fan of the raw fish either way.

The guy decides to prescribe some basic Cipro, and I figure I'm on my way back to health, and that's that. No no. He also decides that due to the nature of my problem, plus the fact that I was recently out of the country, he wants me to provide some samples to make sure it's not something else. Ewww. I pick up the vials at the lab and head back to the hotel, absolutely dreading the task ahead.

I eat a mild dinner, then head up to my room and wait for the moment when I have to play scientist with my own $#!t. And wait. And wait.

Then it dawns on me that this is by far the longest I've held any kind of food in me without almost immediately having to run off to the bathroom to piss it out the wrong end since Saturday. Maybe a miracle has occurred! It's bedtime and still, nothing, so I go to sleep, hopeful...

The next morning, Wednesday, I finally go, and...normalcy! YES!!!

I call up the doc with the good news, and he tells me to forget the samples (thank the maker!) and hold off on the Cipro as well. Just continue to ride it out, stick to the BRAT diet (bananas, rice, apples, and toast) for a couple of days, and give him a call if anything unusual happens. Well, it's now Wednesday night, and two times later, I think I can officially give the all clear. Whew.

Some said the whole thing just finally ran its course over four days, that I ended up not needing the visit to the doctor at all. But I know better. Right up to that doctor's visit, it was still really bad, with no improvement in sight (thus the visit in the first place). Afterwards, it was a case of mind over matter. All I had to hear was that I needed to provide a sample, and damn it, I made myself better, right then and there. Sickness is for the weak-minded.

Thanks to all for the well-wishes, especially your sentimental goo, Arballo (no pun intended).

Tomorrow morning I fly back to Mountain View, at which time I can finally write up a recap of the trip to Tokyo. If it's half as entertaining as the graphic aftermath, I'm sure you'll love it.