It was February 10, 1996. The morning went like any other morning. As usual, I was off to the bathroom at eight AM. This time something was wrong: instead of the normal peanut butter brown, my shit was more of a greenish-gray khaki. Thinking it was just something I ate, I flushed the toilet and went on with my day. Oh, but little did I know what was in store for me later that night. My khaki kaka was trying to warn me. But I didn't listen.
As eight PM came around, I flicked on the TV. My stomach was rolling and I was gassy as hell -- the storm was brewing. Then, at 8:30, the cramps began. These were the kind of cramps that make it hard to breathe. At 9:15 I felt nauseous, but still I had no clue of what was going to happen next. I decided to try to shit, but my stomach started churning like a boat on an angry sea. Finally I began to shit.
And shit I did. Then a real problem arose: I had to vomit, too, but liquishit was pouring out of me in a deluge. I had no choice -- I had to aim myself for the sink.
Now it was coming out both ends, but the sink was getting stopped up.
I had to find a position in which I could aim both my ass and my mouth for the toilet bowl. I did, until I heaved just right and painted the toilet, floor, and walls diarrhea brown. I lunged forward, aiming my sorry ass for the water, and that caused me to throw up all over my stomach, legs, and genitalia.
After thirty minutes, the assault was over. Now I could finally clean my mess and take my first shower of the night.
I showered, but my stomach was still making unholy gurgles, I thought it prudent to stay downstairs until the storm inside me was over. At 10:15 I was back in the bathroom, shitting up a storm and puking my brains out.
This happened two more times between 10:30 and midnight. My ass begging for mercy, my stomach tattered, I decided to drink some flat ginger ale to settle thing down. Ten minutes later, back in the bathroom again. Finally around midnight, already exhausted, I began to fall asleep… with ginger ale in hand. I managed to spill ginger ale all over myself. Back in the shower I was.
Then the demons began to wreak havoc again. It was now 1:30 AM, and I was making my seventh trip in four hours to the toilet to yet again shit and puke some more. By sunup, I had made ten trips to the toilet. My shit looked like water, my mouth was bone-dry and tasting like a sour pickle, I had gotten no sleep in twenty-five hours, I felt weak as a dishrag, and I had an insatiable, burning thirst for some ice water.
I drank some. Five minutes later, up it came.
Finally, at 8:30 in the morning, I went to the emergency room. I was so dehydrated that I received two IVs. The doctor wanted to do a rectal. "A what?!?" I said. All I could think of was his finger going up my ass and a tidal wave of shit coming out.
Luckily the storm in my ass shat itself out long before the rectal. The doctor eventually came back with the news: I had gastroenteritis. I got a prescription to relax my angry stomach and some Gatorade. Ahhh, what a relief, I had a bottle of Gatorade!
Finally, at 1:30, I went to bed, and I didn't wake up until four AM the next morning. My gastroenteritis was over.