Road to Wellville - Part 2
July 11, 2005
Well, I have been here for over 10 days and it has been one hell of a trip. The first four days I thought I was going to die – for some reason, the emulsifying baths they have been sticking me into have generated horrible, world-splitting headaches and eyeaches, just like the ones I have encountered when the shit hit the fan a’la brain tumor/hydrocephalis. Now they are sticking me into baths with a bunch of weeds floating in the water, something that is supposed to reduce inflammation. My headaches have pretty much disappeared. Massage was an utter terror – my entire body is covered in black and blue marks, slowly fading. I am starting to be okay with the massage now. Walking on the applicator – essentially hard plastic spikes – is a perennial favorite. Supposedly it is a lot more painful than walking on burning coals. I suspect after this I will be able to walk on fire without batting an eye.
Having said all this… ENEMAS rule. GIGANTIC enemas using warm molten butter. 2.5 liters of it, to be precise. Let me tell you, nothing quite makes you chew your food like an enema. When you recognise your meal from 4 days ago after you expel it from your obviously half rotten bowels, it makes you CHEW LIKE YOU HAVE NEVER CHEWED BEFORE.
If you are asking why I got an enema to treat herniated disks, the answer is DETOXIFICATION.
The absolute king of treatments, however, is acupuncture. Seeing a needle stuck into your HAND, the fleshy part between the base of your thumb and the rest of your fingers, now that is something that will stay with me forever. The initial insertion is EXCRUCIATING. After the initial insertion, the doctor (a tiny blonde with a mousy voice) comes by, tenderly caresses my head and back, and proceeds to TWIST AND TURN THE NEEDLES every fucking 10 minutes.
So how am I feeling? I am feeling fucking great. I have never felt healthier in my life – of course, I still have herniated disks and the dead remnants of a brain tumor in my head, as well as a plastic tube going from my brain to my stomach underneath my skin. Other than that all is blooming bloody well.
July 12, 2005
At 6AM, the nurse came in to make my roommate vomit. She endeavored to accomplish this feat with vomit tea. A liter of bitter, salty tea, served in a clear glass pitcher. It did not make him vomit, or at least vomit with any VOLUME or appropriate VEHEMENCE, so she made him a solution of sodium carbonate, salt and something else. THAT made him vomit, but NOT ENOUGH.
DETOXIFICATION, baybee.
The nurse takes my blood pressure every morning. She then proceeds to take down a detailed report on any symptoms I may have had during the night/morning. She also wants a detailed accounting on the nature of my fecal matter. I have learned, over the course of the last 11 days, to recount PRECISELY the nature of my refuse.
My blood pressure had dropped to 100/50 in 11 days. I mean, if it drops anymore, I will be practically dead.
One of my massage therapists CONFIRMED the story about the pig MRI-s. It’s true. They conduct fat research in Kaposvar. He attended school there, he was an agricultural engineering student. They would take the hog (a good 200 pound heffer) and pump it full of sedatives and antibiotics. Once it was woozy enough to approach up close and personal, they would give it a shot of sleeping goodness through a bulging vein in the ear. Then it would collapse and they would stuff it through the MRI machine. There was a lot of stench, relaxed bowels, nervous diarrhea, et cetera. I go to that MRI machine once or twice a year…
Ok, I just exited the bathroom. I was in the bathroom four times already this morning. I will not tell you what I discovered in the porcelain bowl. It is not for the faint of heart. Hahaha. (This is an exhausted laugh).
July 13, 2005
I just had a fight with the cleaning woman. She is this stooped evil witch of the west type of person. If you don’t make up your bed, she screeches at you and gives you the evil eye. I screeched back. I think the 15 minute walk I just had downstairs on the bed of plastic spikes was directly responsible for my lack of patience.
Hungarian TV sucks. It’s a bunch of Colombian soaps spliced with the occasional Movie of the Week starring Ted Danson. Models Inc. is a treat, for god’s sake. Tonight they are showing Inlaws starring Peter Falk and the other guy who I think is really funny and I am looking forward to it. This is my life, ending one minute at a time.
H2C came to visit. Her boyfriend is an absolute ass. He took her to Italy – with his brother and his mother in the car. During the entire trip, his brother was sitting in the front seat, with the women clustered in the back along with most of the luggage. H2C kept carrying most of the luggage when they were afoot. What an ass. The guy, I mean.
July 14, 2005
Wow. After the doctor fired three members of the staff, service really took a nosedive at the facility. Those of you who know me in real life might know I am capable of absolute, spontaneous rage when I feel betrayed, cheated, or taken for a fool. I really, really went off on the staff during the morning visit, explaining in minute detail how the service was grossly inadequate over the course of the last four days. My mood did not improve as the day advanced.
The response to my complaining was nothing short of terrifying. First of all, today, we got all the treatments with a vengeance. I was tortured. When I say tortured, I mean tortured in the medieval sense. A two hundred pound dude walked all over my legs and back until I was ‘loose’, after which he placed glass suction jars on my legs – 10 of them, to be precise – to suck out toxins in my system. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this particular brand of orgasmic joy, vacuum cups on the skin burn like lava.
Exercise today included abs… I mean ABS. Horrible, multiple sets of grueling abs. After I was unable to do anymore ABS, I did leg stuff until I was in agonizing pain. With a delightful grin the doctor (the mousy blonde) instructed the physical therapist to make me go on the applicator (the plastic spike carpet) until I could do it without ANY PAIN WHATSOEVER.
Then she ordered me MULTIPLE TYPES OF ENEMAS and ordered me to take several forms of purgatives, most of them looking like dog poo. I am surprised she did not make me take hellebore. Well, maybe she did. I have no idea what was in 90 percent of this stuff.
July 19, 2005
After last night’s enema (referred to as a MICRO enema, a wee little one from a blue bulb) I was taken by surprise when this morning the doctor instructed the nurse to administer a MACRO one, the 2.5 liters of molten butter-salt-honey combination, a combination that is eminently effective in flushing you major league clean.
The doctor stared at me.
“What do you do for a living?”
“Uhm… I translate. I write,” here I paused for a moment. “In America, I was a lawyer.”
“I can tell you were a lawyer.”
“Oh.”
“I want to tell you something. You cannot impose your will on nature. Nature is in charge. I want you to think about what I have said.”
“Uhm. Okay.” I nodded and actually thought about what he had said. Is that actually true? Can one impose one’s will on nature? If so, what are the consequences?
Amusing aside:
I have a request. I need to know everything there is to know about Magpies. The birds. Any stories, anecdotes, actual ornithological information. There is scarcely any information on the net about them. I need all there is.
Back to Wellville:
I had more acupuncture today. I made the mistake of complaining about my ears clogging up after exerting myself. IMMEDIATELY the mousy blonde (who is probably a closeted sadist) ordered me to the massage room for acupuncture. Now, the first time I had acupuncture she only pushed in the needles halfway. By now the blasted things are pushed all the way in. About half an inch deep, each of them. Yes, they are painful. Once they are in they are not so bad – except the one she sticks in the soft, fleshy part of my left hand. That one immediately cramps up. It is excruciating.
I want to talk more about magpies. They are by far my favorite birds. Most people only know that magpies are thieves and are attracted to shiny objects. This is true – as magpies are related to crows and ravens, it’s hardly a surprise. Magpies can also be taught to talk, just like parrots. They are curious, clever and ornery. What I found incredible is what magpies do when one of them dies. You see, magpies gather from the entire forest and mourn their dead. Sometimes up to forty birds gather around the corpse and they dance and sing… and I am sure they would cry if they could. Can birds cry? I really want to know. I mean, do they have tearducts?
Well, I have been here for over 10 days and it has been one hell of a trip. The first four days I thought I was going to die – for some reason, the emulsifying baths they have been sticking me into have generated horrible, world-splitting headaches and eyeaches, just like the ones I have encountered when the shit hit the fan a’la brain tumor/hydrocephalis. Now they are sticking me into baths with a bunch of weeds floating in the water, something that is supposed to reduce inflammation. My headaches have pretty much disappeared. Massage was an utter terror – my entire body is covered in black and blue marks, slowly fading. I am starting to be okay with the massage now. Walking on the applicator – essentially hard plastic spikes – is a perennial favorite. Supposedly it is a lot more painful than walking on burning coals. I suspect after this I will be able to walk on fire without batting an eye.
Having said all this… ENEMAS rule. GIGANTIC enemas using warm molten butter. 2.5 liters of it, to be precise. Let me tell you, nothing quite makes you chew your food like an enema. When you recognise your meal from 4 days ago after you expel it from your obviously half rotten bowels, it makes you CHEW LIKE YOU HAVE NEVER CHEWED BEFORE.
If you are asking why I got an enema to treat herniated disks, the answer is DETOXIFICATION.
The absolute king of treatments, however, is acupuncture. Seeing a needle stuck into your HAND, the fleshy part between the base of your thumb and the rest of your fingers, now that is something that will stay with me forever. The initial insertion is EXCRUCIATING. After the initial insertion, the doctor (a tiny blonde with a mousy voice) comes by, tenderly caresses my head and back, and proceeds to TWIST AND TURN THE NEEDLES every fucking 10 minutes.
So how am I feeling? I am feeling fucking great. I have never felt healthier in my life – of course, I still have herniated disks and the dead remnants of a brain tumor in my head, as well as a plastic tube going from my brain to my stomach underneath my skin. Other than that all is blooming bloody well.
July 12, 2005
At 6AM, the nurse came in to make my roommate vomit. She endeavored to accomplish this feat with vomit tea. A liter of bitter, salty tea, served in a clear glass pitcher. It did not make him vomit, or at least vomit with any VOLUME or appropriate VEHEMENCE, so she made him a solution of sodium carbonate, salt and something else. THAT made him vomit, but NOT ENOUGH.
DETOXIFICATION, baybee.
The nurse takes my blood pressure every morning. She then proceeds to take down a detailed report on any symptoms I may have had during the night/morning. She also wants a detailed accounting on the nature of my fecal matter. I have learned, over the course of the last 11 days, to recount PRECISELY the nature of my refuse.
My blood pressure had dropped to 100/50 in 11 days. I mean, if it drops anymore, I will be practically dead.
One of my massage therapists CONFIRMED the story about the pig MRI-s. It’s true. They conduct fat research in Kaposvar. He attended school there, he was an agricultural engineering student. They would take the hog (a good 200 pound heffer) and pump it full of sedatives and antibiotics. Once it was woozy enough to approach up close and personal, they would give it a shot of sleeping goodness through a bulging vein in the ear. Then it would collapse and they would stuff it through the MRI machine. There was a lot of stench, relaxed bowels, nervous diarrhea, et cetera. I go to that MRI machine once or twice a year…
Ok, I just exited the bathroom. I was in the bathroom four times already this morning. I will not tell you what I discovered in the porcelain bowl. It is not for the faint of heart. Hahaha. (This is an exhausted laugh).
July 13, 2005
I just had a fight with the cleaning woman. She is this stooped evil witch of the west type of person. If you don’t make up your bed, she screeches at you and gives you the evil eye. I screeched back. I think the 15 minute walk I just had downstairs on the bed of plastic spikes was directly responsible for my lack of patience.
Hungarian TV sucks. It’s a bunch of Colombian soaps spliced with the occasional Movie of the Week starring Ted Danson. Models Inc. is a treat, for god’s sake. Tonight they are showing Inlaws starring Peter Falk and the other guy who I think is really funny and I am looking forward to it. This is my life, ending one minute at a time.
H2C came to visit. Her boyfriend is an absolute ass. He took her to Italy – with his brother and his mother in the car. During the entire trip, his brother was sitting in the front seat, with the women clustered in the back along with most of the luggage. H2C kept carrying most of the luggage when they were afoot. What an ass. The guy, I mean.
July 14, 2005
Wow. After the doctor fired three members of the staff, service really took a nosedive at the facility. Those of you who know me in real life might know I am capable of absolute, spontaneous rage when I feel betrayed, cheated, or taken for a fool. I really, really went off on the staff during the morning visit, explaining in minute detail how the service was grossly inadequate over the course of the last four days. My mood did not improve as the day advanced.
The response to my complaining was nothing short of terrifying. First of all, today, we got all the treatments with a vengeance. I was tortured. When I say tortured, I mean tortured in the medieval sense. A two hundred pound dude walked all over my legs and back until I was ‘loose’, after which he placed glass suction jars on my legs – 10 of them, to be precise – to suck out toxins in my system. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this particular brand of orgasmic joy, vacuum cups on the skin burn like lava.
Exercise today included abs… I mean ABS. Horrible, multiple sets of grueling abs. After I was unable to do anymore ABS, I did leg stuff until I was in agonizing pain. With a delightful grin the doctor (the mousy blonde) instructed the physical therapist to make me go on the applicator (the plastic spike carpet) until I could do it without ANY PAIN WHATSOEVER.
Then she ordered me MULTIPLE TYPES OF ENEMAS and ordered me to take several forms of purgatives, most of them looking like dog poo. I am surprised she did not make me take hellebore. Well, maybe she did. I have no idea what was in 90 percent of this stuff.
July 19, 2005
After last night’s enema (referred to as a MICRO enema, a wee little one from a blue bulb) I was taken by surprise when this morning the doctor instructed the nurse to administer a MACRO one, the 2.5 liters of molten butter-salt-honey combination, a combination that is eminently effective in flushing you major league clean.
The doctor stared at me.
“What do you do for a living?”
“Uhm… I translate. I write,” here I paused for a moment. “In America, I was a lawyer.”
“I can tell you were a lawyer.”
“Oh.”
“I want to tell you something. You cannot impose your will on nature. Nature is in charge. I want you to think about what I have said.”
“Uhm. Okay.” I nodded and actually thought about what he had said. Is that actually true? Can one impose one’s will on nature? If so, what are the consequences?
Amusing aside:
I have a request. I need to know everything there is to know about Magpies. The birds. Any stories, anecdotes, actual ornithological information. There is scarcely any information on the net about them. I need all there is.
Back to Wellville:
I had more acupuncture today. I made the mistake of complaining about my ears clogging up after exerting myself. IMMEDIATELY the mousy blonde (who is probably a closeted sadist) ordered me to the massage room for acupuncture. Now, the first time I had acupuncture she only pushed in the needles halfway. By now the blasted things are pushed all the way in. About half an inch deep, each of them. Yes, they are painful. Once they are in they are not so bad – except the one she sticks in the soft, fleshy part of my left hand. That one immediately cramps up. It is excruciating.
I want to talk more about magpies. They are by far my favorite birds. Most people only know that magpies are thieves and are attracted to shiny objects. This is true – as magpies are related to crows and ravens, it’s hardly a surprise. Magpies can also be taught to talk, just like parrots. They are curious, clever and ornery. What I found incredible is what magpies do when one of them dies. You see, magpies gather from the entire forest and mourn their dead. Sometimes up to forty birds gather around the corpse and they dance and sing… and I am sure they would cry if they could. Can birds cry? I really want to know. I mean, do they have tearducts?
posted by Balázsy András at 10:25 AM
2 Comments:
"Other than that all is blooming bloody well."
This line says oh so much. Also, thank you for not describing your excrement.
If that needle hurts, it means one of three things. It is in wrong or something is wrong with the needle. Your muscles are too tense. Your meridien line is blocked or interrupted.
Ah, cupping. It doesn't work on me. I'm too thin, not enough flesh. The cups can't create a vacuum seal, so they just jump off.
My dog's been having acupuncture lately. He seems to enjoy it.
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