Better Blogging #4 - My Tapeworm and Me

If you're just now joining the show, this is installment four in my Blogging for by a Dummies series. I have been consulting the internet for advice on improving this blog.

Suggestion #4: Get a Life!

This was an actual suggestion on how to make your blog better. The idea is to get out and live a life interesting enough to write about. Don’t even. For real. Don’t. You know who has an interesting life? People on erectile dysfunction commercials. Seriously, watch them. They are taking baths outside, dancing in gardens… You want to read their blog, you have my blessing. Then forward me the link.

By the way, how much more manly can they make those guys? They are fixing cars, using heavy machinery, they’re all but dragging a woman by the hair back to their cave and shooting testosterone like lighting from their eyes -which are all nestled in a head that’s full of sophisticatedly graying hair. 

We get it, ok? You are manly despite your “situation.” Nobody said you weren’t. By the way, from the commercials, I would assume only super attractive 50 something year old men struggle with this and they are all married to supremely beautiful women! So, if you’re a completely normal looking human that doesn’t dance around while putting away groceries, you are in the clear. (Phew!) 

 I'm ok not having an interesting life. I'd rather lead a quiet one, mind my own business and work with my hands. (1 Thess 4:11-12) If in that peaceful existence I happen to make it up on stage at the Price is Right and win both final showcases, so be it. (For the record, I would be so happy that I’d roll around on the floor and flail like a fish out of water.) 

That is not to say I haven’t had interesting episodes in my life. I made the mistake of telling two of those to my former high school students. They became something of legend that I was asked often to repeat. One had to do with me having a tapeworm. (The other with me eating an entire tube of cookie dough. I will address that at another time. If ya know that story, don’t spoil it!)

Yes, I, a healthy, college aged woman in a 1st world country, had a tapeworm. I nicknamed him Gus. (Gusano means worm in Spanish. Thus, Gus.) I don’t know exactly how we met, Gus and I. To get the particulars I would have had to present a segment of him to the CDC. However, when I learned of Gus’ residency in my gut, I didn’t make conversation and I certainly didn’t get a sample of him. I just flushed. I will leave it at that.

Leading up to the discovery of said squatter, I hadn’t been doing well. I was young, 18, very active. I played year round inter murals and was a cheerleader at the university. But, I looked bad. I had circles under my eyes, my color was off and I was losing weight. The later was a real tell-tale because I ate like a horse. One day during lunch in the cafeteria, my friend Jason commented on the fact that I ate more than him. This guy was lifting weights, active in sports like me and ate as only a 19 year old guy can. But, I could match him bite for bite plus one. And, I was hovering at around 100 pounds.

Anywho, I got myself to the doctor. My friend Clancy, who to this day laughs about it all, drove me. (I sent her a text while writing this and asked her if she was the one who drove me when I had the tapeworm. She said I won for weirdest question of the day.) I told the doctor about my tenant and she got the giggles too. Mind you, I wasn’t laughing. I had a parasite in my stomach! Don’t get me wrong, it was nice that somebody was enjoying the fact, but I was not. At all! 

Growing up, I remember my great aunt talking about somebody having a tape worm. To get rid of it, she starved herself for days, then sniffed a bowl of fried chicken. The thing reportedly came out her nose in search of something finger lickin’ good. Her nose, people. HER NOSE! Now, I have made clear how I feel about bats. (See post from June 2014 - My Red Roots)I f a bat ever gets caught in my hair just kill me ‘cause I won’t come back from it. My mind will be unsalvageable. Same goes for a worm coming out my nose! Just. Kill. Me.

The doctor finally got it together enough to get out a Physician’s Desk Reference and look up what concoction to prescribe. It was in fact a poison that had to be ordered from the CDC in Atlanta. It took 5 days to be mailed in. (There was no Amazon Prime in the early 90s.) When I picked it up, the pharmacy tech gave it a double take, recoiled, then handed it to me as if it were a live grenade. Later, I would find that to be a completely appropriate reaction.

It wasn’t just a single pill. There was a whole protocol. I took a pill, then an hour later, two pills, then an hour later two more. Something like that. It was crazy. The doctor told me that I needed to have somebody check on me and to “be ready.” I wish I had asked her elaborate. 

So, I got a trash bag and got in bed. (I’m not a toilet pucker - see post Nov 2014 Call Me Ick Fish - and I assumed that would happen. It did not. Oh, that it had.) Now, this was college. I shared my restroom with other folks and the quarters were small. This was not going to be something I could keep a secret and I wasn’t even going to try. I imagined it would be as futile as using potpourri to combat tear gas. 

My suite mates were aware of what was taking place. I fessed up to them pretty quick about it all. And, like everybody else, they got a good guffaw. They even planned on leaving tapeworm-esque items around so I would wonder if perhaps I was the mothership for a homecoming. Thankfully, after my hysterical crying, they chose against it.

Took the first pill, turned on the TV, (black and white) got in bed and waited for the bomb to drop. Nothing. Big relief. Took next dosage. Much the same. Took third … and yea verily the battle did ensue! My body literally doubled over with the contraction of my stomach muscles. It wasn’t pain doubling me, my body was bending me on its own in defense of the strike. I am not joking.

I was going to attach a pic from "the alien in the gut scene"
but all of them were just too ... they were too too! If you've
seen "the scene" you know what I mean. This however
is illustrative of how I was feeling at that point!

My stomach whirled like a smoothie machine and I think the pain hit around then. I was waiting for Ripley, Bishop and the rest of the crew to run in and catch the critter when it burst from my gut because it seemed like it would. (Alien. Look it up.) This went on for what seemed an eternity until my insides were evacuated with extreme prejudice.

When it was all said and done, I was exhausted and many pounds lighter. My stomach muscles ached for days and I walked with a hunch to assuage them. Also, I was just plain too weak to stand. But, slowly, bit by bit, I got better. No fried chicken needed.

The End.

(I’ll tell the cookie dough one soon. Promise.)