It was right around midnight when it happened. The pain in my gut seemed to come to life rocking and rolling causing sheer agony. If that wasn't enough my head began to spin. My mouth dried out and then queasiness over took me.
I stumbled as I raced towards the bathroom. I drug myself on my knees the rest of the way as a clammy chill overcame me followed by a cold sweat that beaded up on my face and neck before taking over my whole body. As I reached the toilet a florescent green substance burst forth from my mouth and I grabbed at the toilet to keep myself from falling flat to the floor.
It seemed like hours that I balanced against the toilet waiting for the last of these putrid contents to leave my stomach but I know it probably didn't really take long. Once my stomach quit heaving, my head still spun and that cold chill turned into uncontrollable shaking. I pulled my bathrobe off the nearby hook and wrapped it around myself before exiting the room.
There was no doubt in my mind now. I needed help and I needed it quickly. I knew the meaning of that florescent green vomit from an experience I'd had as a child.
I was about 5 years old and we'd just had a new baby in our house. I had been asked if I wanted to hold my new baby brother right after he'd had a bottle. I'd done willing taken him pleased to be so trusted. Yet, after just moments in my arms the baby puked that green stuff all over me.
The adults all panicked and someone grabbed the baby from me. He was rushed off to the hospital not to be seen for another six months. It turns out he was born with his intestines jumbled up in knots and the unusual vomit was a direct result of an intestional blockage. The odor, the color, the cause and a whole lot of guilt stuck with me all these years.
There was no question in my mind. I had some kind of blockage in my intestional tract and not trip to a doctor's office was going to fix it. What I needed was a hospital. Insurance or not I couldn't let that drive me anymore. My life was hanging in the balance.
Once I was sure my body's purging process was through, I managed to crawl back to my room. There I grabbed my cell phone to call Dave who was in the living room. I knew I didn't have the strength to reach him on my own. I only hoped he'd not fallen asleep watching the tv because Dave sleeps like a log. I didn't want to call 911 for help if I didn't have to. Even if I was no longer resistant to going for help, the fear of what an ambulance to the hospital would cause was driving me still.
Luckily Dave was wide awake, or at least he sounded that way as he answered the phone on its second ring. When he heard my voice telling him I needed him to take me to the emergency room, he calmly answered he be right there after he got dressed, which I might add he accomplished in record time. While I waited for him, I put on my bathrobe, my socks and my shoes praying the whole time.
As much as I didn't want to believe it, I had a pretty good idea what this all meant for me. My dad was diagnosed with colorectal cancer when I was about six. He died from the disease when I was twelve. Even though the details of my father's illness were pretty much never discussed under the guise of protecting us, there was no way to hide the fact he'd died.
The disease itself was rarely, if ever discussed in my family even after my father's death. It was like everything else bad that happened. Family rules proclaimed you just didn't talk about the bad stuff no matter what it was. That meant we never talked about the tests for screening we should all have been taking once those tests had become available.
While this might be difficult for some to understand, victims of childhood abuse and particularly sexual abuse, have even greater difficulty getting routine medical procedures done that could save their lives. I'm not sure I can explain why that is but I know it has definitely been the case for me.
My guess would be it has a lot to do with control and trust........things that are hard enough under normal circumstances but even more difficult with the violations that come with childhood abuse.
As sick as I was that evening, these are the thoughts that ran through my mind......... and with them, flashbacks of those things that started it all. Oh, how I wished I could take a horse to the hospital with me. From the looks of things I was going to need the healing I seem to get from them.
To be continued...................
Getting to the Hospital.........
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