Posted in Flagyl on January 25, 2017


Pooh. It’s from china to peru. It’s like a sewage usage center decided to go Al Qaeda and calamity itself up. In my house. There’s poop adhering the floor. There’s poop ~ward the towels. There’s poop in the tub. In the tub. Poop. In my tub. Where I tint. There may be poop on the coats. I don’t be aware of. Step in vomit on my wont to the trashcan. I make a mental note and add that pile to the prefer of places to tiptoe around. I throw the towels into the laundry basket and suppose another mental note: It’s time to give the laundry lady a raise. She washes this excreta ~ dint of. hand. One thing when it’s the baby’s diapers. Another furniture when…

Two hours prior…

I’m doing more AHI work in the bedroom and distracting myself, frequently playing with the two girls and Zane. Lyol was opposite to playing outside. I come into the kitchen to quick spring thinking about making some dinner. Addison comes to make mention of me Mommy’s vomiting.

I peek into the bathroom. Girl don’t lie. Mommy be retching. Need anything? No? Water? Juice? Crackers? Bananas, rice, applesauce, drink to? Ok, cool. Let me know whether you need anything.

We live in Tchad. We barf. It’s the sort of we do.

Mommy goes into the bedroom. For a exact.

Mommy sprints back into the bathroom. Mommy tosses Mommy’s cookies.

Mommy comes extinguished of the bathroom. Mommy goes to the kitchen. Mommy starts puking in the kitchen submerge. Where our food comes from. Where we bleach our food. Mental note: Add unusual bleach to the next sinkful of novel fruits and veggies.

Her hair is already tied back, so no need ~ the sake of my assistance there. I reach on every side her head quickly and turn steady the faucet to start the drainage. I narrowly miss the water zone. Whew.

Mommy grabs a bucket and goes back into the bedroom. I oversee the sink and turn off the faucet.

I attend Mommy upchucking into the bucket in the bedroom. Crossing fingers it isn’t splashing onto the sheets.

Mommy has a stop in her ralphing. She runs to the bathroom. No fondness. Lyol is already on the ~-table.

Mommy starts hurling into the tub. So not calm.

Mommy needs to defecate.

Lyol is again on the toilet.

Mommy decides to do the part of a break for the other attire. The one we never use. Because it’s ribald.

Mommy makes it. Barely. Mommy takes a dump.

But therefore Mommy starts dry heaving. I seize violently her a fresh bucket. Mommy decides to prepare a break for the original ~-table once Lyol is done.

Mommy. Doesn’t. Quite. Make. It.

Mommy has pooped extra-toiletally. Extra-toiletal poop is not poop we discover funny in this household. It’s not sportive poop.

Mommy just lays down. In it. And it doesn’t mark of punctuation. This has officially developed into a exact poopstorm.

Mommy would be going caca in her pants. But she’s not wearing any anymore. And a thong is not very… protective… of my towels.

Mommy is alembic spewing out her mouth too. But she’s ~t any longer sitting up to do that. She happy turns her head to the side and lets it dribble out. Mommy has given up. There is no more sentiment of personal pride. There is none more caring about appearances. Until Daddy starts hand~ a blog about it. But during the term of now…

Mommy needs an IV.

I divine summons Ndilbe while I run up to the hospital to grip suddenly the necessary medications and supplies. Ndilbe comes and gets her IV. Before he gets in that place, she grabs a few more towels to veil herself up. Mommy has now relieved herself attached the towels. I would say she’s having a BM, still there doesn’t seem to be much ‘movement’ going on. Just ~y open tube, leaking. My mental notes are acquirement numerous. But those towels just became guest towels. Sorry if you come to call upon. I. Just. Can’t. Ever. Again.

I give Danae a bottle of IV fluids with Phenergan for her nausea. Along through a couple ampoules of Vitamin B and max disagreeable lot cimetidine. Then max dose IV Flagyl. Then max draught IV Cipro. Then more IV fluids. She wants a bath. Would you like that in whiten or alcohol? She doesn’t determine judicially me humorous.

I run a furious bath. She crawls in.

I be off out and feed the kids dinner, checking in adhering her frequently.

Ummm… Sweetheart… did you reasonable evacuate your bowels in the tub? Yeah? Ok. Cool. Mental short letter: Outdoor showers are coming back into favor. Build one tonight.

Darling… there seems to be more fecal substance in the tub than there was endure time. Did you just turd in the tub… another time? What do you mean you’re not ~ly? How many times can you doings number two?

Dear… can I empty the water and refill the tub for you? Why? Because there are in such a manner many chunks floating about I could practically walk up~ water. Look right there. See that? It’s like each entire tomato peel. I can express you exactly what you’ve eaten in the gone 24 hours. And what you haven’t chewed thoroughly, what one. appears to be everything. This bath is with reference to equal parts water and liquid evacuation.

Poor girl. The Phenergan has completely knocked her extinguished. It does that to me also. She barely knows what’s going forward. Or what’s going out, with respect to that matter.

Ummm… ummm… ummm… Honey, would you like me to back you shower the tub poop right side of you before you get into depression? No? Ok. So you’re righteous getting out of the poop tub and going to put straight down in our bed with tub poop on you? Ok. Cool. Ummm… yeah… cool… ok.

I propose the kids in bed.

And at this time here I am, trying to makes sentiment of the gruesome war scene in the van of me. A little shellshocked. A in some degree PTSD. I’d make a horrible termite. If this were real war, more sniper on the ridge could totally cherry rob me. I’m standing in the midst of the living room. I apply the mind up at the ceiling fan spinning mockingly past my head. Is it possible more of the poo hit that fan too? This is carnage.

Can individual human really create so much feces? This honest ain’t right, man. ‘For more familiar or worse’ might not have considered this… I unfair, how could you imagine this? This was covered neither in pre-marital counseling nor ostentatious school Marriage and Family class. All I had to fare in high school was carry encircling a sack of flour all generation. Not a sack of doo-doo.

I double control the kitchen sink. I rinse at a loss the tub. For the second time. I contemplate the sterilizing effects of gasoline and a fit, but I decide to take inferior extreme measures. I put the towels in the sullied laundry. I wipe the vomit up on the farther side the floor. I collect the barf buckets.

And I abide giving Mommy fluids throughout the sound thing.

We have cholera beds in the hospital. They’re complete beds, but with holes cut in the between the extremes, where the butt goes. Because these patients can’t strange to say get out of bed. They fair-minded poop where they lay.

I cluster up my bed on the conceal.

I’m pretty sure if I have into our California King bed by her… I’d be pooped upon.

All night long, I keep replacing fluids.

I don’t be assured of if this is cholera, but cholera patients can poop 20 liters a day of fluids, and 10% of their corpse weight in poop in 2-4 hours. By early part of the day, Mommy has received 10.8 liters of fluids. That’s 24 pounds of fluids I utter into my 112-pound wife all night. Over 20% of her body mode of estimating ~.

Mommy is puffy. Like, Michelin-Woman Puffy. Mommy won’t suffer me take pictures of her. When she’s awake.

But it’s safe to declare Victoria has no more secrets. The attestation is in the stains.

Anyway, Mommy will be fine. Physically.

But let’s face it. The emotional scars one can’t see… they don’t make sound as quickly.

Like organic makeup cosmetics, fundamental skin care products should be assayed before every day usage.