His Wrath

What a week it's been! Last weekend was off to a great start with a Catholic-themed birthday party that  a friend threw; a wonderful array of black clothing, crosses, candles, Oblaten (those flat boring cracker things that the priest puts on your tongue during communion, the "Body of Christ" I guess it's called) red wine and... Jewish music (?) because that's probably what Jesus liked to listen to. Being an intense lover of themed-parties and anything that could remotely involve a costume, I got very much into the mood and went cross shopping at a second hand shop, and created my best make-shift nun costume for the occasion. It was hilariously somber in my friend's studio. We had mini-confessions to my friend, who took the role of a father Bishop with a tea cosy on her head, and we often referred to the picture of the Pope on the wall for moral stimulation. All in good fun and never to blaspheme! We all bumbled home in our Blood-of-Christ stupors and the next morning I awoke with a frightful pain in my stomach. Was it food poisoning, the stomach flu, something funny in those strange Catholic crackers, or perhaps the wrath of God? I'll never know. But what I do know is that I have never felt so miserable in my entire life.

The pain first manifested itself in my stomach, so I chewed on ginger, ate some oranges, and figured it would go away. But alas! It did not. It only moved further and further along my intestinal tract until my whole gut was writhing and wriggling and well, moving much much faster than I would have liked. At least there was no vomiting in the stomach flu, but diarrhea is pretty awful. I'm really blessed (Thanked be God) that I've never actually had it before, but HOLY SHIT (no pun intended!) It streamed like a Gregorian Chant from my rump until there was nothing but blood coming out. For days. I quickly became more dehydrated than I've ever been, but I was too weak to eat or drink. The minute anything entered my mouth it was rejected out the other end.

I spent 4 days running to the bathroom at least ever 15 minutes, and the rest of the time I was in a semi-conscious comatose like haze, very, very horizontal and in so much pain. It was devastatingly lonely when nobody was at home to help me. And I had no appropriate "sick food" like white bread and crackers to munch on—vegetables, flax seeds and almonds really aren't so useful in a case like this. I called an emergency doctor hotline and they told me if the bleeding continued to go to an urgent care center. It only worsened. I called and made an appointment for nine o'clock that evening and just as I was about to leave, I got a letter from Skatteverket with my Swedish Personnummer! I got my social security number and now have all the rights as any Swedish citizen (sans suffrage.) What impeccable timing!

With the help of Hanna's mom, I managed to scoot myself into a taxi and pray that the driver didn't go over too many bumps. My personnummer was put to use instantly and I was seen no questions asked. However, the urgent care doctor did nothing. He neither took my blood-pressure nor measured my temperature and with a mere few pokes around my stomach, he caused me quite some agony and declared me "Magsjuk" sick with the stomach flu. Gee thanks, doc, I kinda figured. Did you notice that there's a sanguine waterfall coming out of my ass? That slimeball tried to flirt with Hanna's mom while she was waiting with me, and then he sent me home. This is why I don't like doctors...

I couldn't sleep more than 5 minutes at a time and grew weaker and even more dehydrated. I started shaking and clenching my jaws so hard at night that it still hurts to chew food today. On Wednesday I decided to call the emergency room and ask for a second opinion. They were outraged that the other doc sent me home and told me to come in immediately. Johannes and I got in a cab and made the way there—oh, 15 painful minutes in that car. Blasted farthinder (speedbumps)! I was seen immediately in the ER, no waiting room nonsense. Tina, my nurse has the greatest sense of humor and very kindly put an IV into my right arm and sent a wonderful surge of fluids through my body. It was sensational. It was the best high I can even fathom—rehydration after 4 days of withering away. It was like a cold Hawaiian waterfall straight to my brain and a dripping feeling through ever vessel in my body. Blessed saline IV fluids—perhaps the healing tears of God?

My doctor was incredibly sweet and her intent to help me shone through her white coat like the heart of an angel. After various—gulp—rectal exams, she let me lay there until the whole bag of IV was drained into my bloodstream and said that everything looked normal and that the absence of fever made my condition very peculiar. She mentioned really scary things like colitis, Chron's disease and inflammatory bowel disease. How could I ever get something like that? Tahini, almond butter and dates are what I consider my "junk foods" or my dessert. Common things in my kitchen include wheatgrass & spirulina, I drink vegetable juice, eat lemons like a fruit and meditate, for God's sake. There's no way I have IBD. But the fact that she mentioned a potential colonoscopy to investigate further really scared me and set off another shivering, shaking fit that lasted until the next morning. Maybe it was the devil coming out of me. Yes, a self-induced, psychosomatic exorcism.

It worked, the fluids and the visit to the ER put me back into thoracically vertical terms—the next day I managed to sit up in bed and stuff something like wonder bread into my mouth to, well, clog my gut. It worked but I really never imagined myself going to such a low place. I was famished and ate slice after slice after boring, nutritionally futile slice. But I got better. I contained my foods and waters much better and today I'm pretty much healed, though my stomach makes really strange noises every once in a while and I have to override my instant reaction to run to the bathroom. Amen.

While bedridden the snow melted and Spring decided to jump into the track in the middle of February. When I went outside for the first time I immediately started sweating though it was only 3 or 4 degrees. I am overjoyed and all of a sudden have all this energy again. The birds are all singing and the grass and moss from last fall is sitting soggily and tousled on the ground. It's not really Spring, but it's not winter either. I'm not so naïve as to falling into the "Oh, now it's spring" trap, and am very aware that another winter storm could and probably will come. But still, I see no harm in allowing myself the joy of this mid-winter spring fiesta! Going into town today I felt this warm glow of "I love Sweden" wash over me. I think the worst of the winter is over and I'm feeling "Sweden" as I know it from the summer come back. It's February, I'm still here, alive and smiling, I have my personnummer and I can say with complete confidence that moving here was not a mistake. Just goes to show that you really should trust your heart and follow your dreams no matter how outrageous they might seem.