Plain and simple, my body is disfigured. I have lost all of the bone and muscle possible, and my paunch is filled. My belly button is now a smooth star on my tummy. I need relief soon, and breathing is laborious.
The doctor is here, and begins molesting my my protrusion that used to be a stomach. I lift my shabby bed sheet of a night gown, and he palms my side with his thumb outstretched. He waves a closed peace sign with his right hand, and taps on my belly with his rubber mallet fingers. It is blatantly obvious that my abdomen is distended.
"Ah", I yelp!
"Yeah, that smarts, doesn't it?"
He reminds me of Dr. Prick when he adds, "I told you to stop drinking."
This has to be Dr. Prick, but I don't remember his face.
"What? I'm not drinking! What are you talking about", I ask?
"Water. I told you to not drink so much water."
Sulking, I say,"Oh. Yeah. I know."
So, after going through the ordeal of transferring my limp body to a stretcher, we take the elevator down into the guts of the building. The same nurse is there, and she offers me a warm blanket. It is cozy at first, but I have to expose my beach ball sized, pot belly. The ultrasound wand has the same frigid jelly as last time.
Either my hallucinations are worse this time, or I am just seeing more because I expected to. When she slides the wand around, the 3D images flash numerous still images like a Guy Ritchie movie. All of them are wearing Cheshire Cat grins, and the party is all for me. I don't want it. I need them to leave.
While my nurse is marking the X with her Sharpie, the doctor enters the small room. The nurse brings a case of bottles to hold the fluid, and the man with the relief valve pulls out the long needle. I lie back and watch the screen when he says, "OK. You're going to feel some pressure, and it will be hot."
My guess is the needle is hot enough to cauterize the entry, but that's only a guess. What I do know is that I don't like a doctor saying, "Oops." Something is wrong, and he is pulling the needle back out.
"Sorry buddy. That didn't go in right."
"That's OK," I say. I am very used to getting poked. This one just hurts a bit more.
"OK. Pressure...and hot...oops".
When he pulls the needle out this time, something warm begins to slide down, and drip off of my back.
"Hmm, sorry again. I have to do it one more time, OK?"
"Yep", I concede.
This time there is no mistake, and the fluid begins to spray into the bottle. It looks just like a domestic draft, and its coming out quickly. Within moments, the nurse is changing the first bottle.
That's a liter. That's 2.2 pounds.
When I look at the monitor the doctor explains that all of the dark space is the fluid. He just has to maneuver the needle to avoid my bowels.
The mechanics roll me up onto my left side, and I feel something wet run down past my groin muscle. I don't know if its fluid or blood, but it is moving down my back, too.
The belly juice tosses my bowels every which way, and the pain is nearly unbearable.
"Try to relax, sir", the nurse tells me.
"I am", I grunt.
No matter what, I can't shake that I did this to myself.
I have to remember this. Just enough, so that I won't drink again.