Tuesday afternoon, my stomach was killing me. Actually, I say "my stomach" when I actually mean "my entire abdomen." It could, for all I know, have been my spleen that actually hurt, but it sure felt like my entire abdominal cavity. It felt as though my digestive system was filled to almost-bursting with concrete, and if I were to move too fast, it would all come bursting out like that thing in Alien. I made the mistake of doing a little "hop" in place to see if I could jog like this, and almost fell down. It was excruciating.
I was a little bit worried, because when I pressed in on my stomach and let off really quickly, the letting off hurt a lot more than the pressing in. My doctor had once told me that this could be a sign of peritonitis, so it concerned me a bit. When I thought about calling the doctor, though, I remembered my last trip to the ER, and the subsequent doctor's visit (when they could squeeze me in three weeks later), and figured why bother? Honestly, why bother? There's probably nothing wrong, or this is a passing thing. It's probably something I ate.
So, I just took a hot bath and went to bed early. I spent the night waking myself up every time I moved. Obviously, my subconscious was helping me to stay in one place as much as possible, because every time I woke up, another one of my limbs was asleep. Around three AM, the dog jumped up on the bed, and I petted him briefly before Charlie kicked him off. "Ohhhoww" was the watchword of the evening.
By yesterday afternoon around 5 or so, I wasn't in such bad shape. The last thing I'd eaten before this happened was homemade pizza about 24 hours prior. Now, I haven't had pizza of any kind in a very long time. Generally, I have problems with fatty things, and it doesn't get much fattier than pizza. (Or at least, a good pizza. MmmmMMmmm...fatty!) And spicy things. (And this was a spicy pepperoni pizza.) So, of course, I suspected the pizza.
But was it the pizza? I really had no way to know other than circumstantial evidence, and you know that circumstantial evidence won't hold up in a court of law. How could I convict Charlie's homemade pizza without examining all the angles and making sure?
I considered this for awhile. As I said, I wasn't in bad shape, and I hadn't eaten anything since Monday, so I was pretty hungry.
And there was that other half of the aforementioned pizza left over and sitting in the fridge.
And it was calling to me.
The more I thought about it, the more I decided I had to know. Could I eat pizza, or would pizza, in its cold and calculating wickedness blow out my digestive system? If I finished the pizza, I reasoned, I would be reproducing the elements of what I ate before I got sick. If I got sick, then I'd know it was the pizza that caused it, and pizza would be officially off my list. If not, then I'd know it was just my screwy GI tract acting up for no apparent reason in an attempt to FRAME the innocent pizza!
Well, I couldn't just hang the pizza without a fair trial now, could I? Could you? Of course not! We are enlightened and justice-loving people.
And so, having mostly recovered from the pain, I finished off the pizza.
I'll let you know this evening whether or not it was a good idea. :-)