It started with an over spiced blackened catfish at lunch Friday. I love hot food but this one kept me coughing throughout the meal.
My stomach growled when I saw down for dinner at home Friday night. No big deal. I eat spicy food all the time.
By 8 p.m., however, the growling turned into full-fledged mutiny and the rumbling from my gut sounded like Shermanâ€™s march through Georgia.. I headed for the bathroom with a fresh magazine to let nature take its course.
Natureâ€™s course turned into many trips to the john â€“ throughout the night about every 10-15 minutes as Amy kept all three of our bathrooms stocked with plenty of toilet paper and magazines.
By morning, the worst should have passed. My system appeared clean enough for a colonoscopy (anybody got Katie Couricâ€™s phone number?). Didnâ€™t feel like eating so I drank some apple juice.
Bad choice. The juice hit my stomach like Gen. George S. Patton on his way to the Battle of the Bulge. Fifteen minutes later I was on my knees in the bathroom, regurgitating the apple juice into the toilet bowl.
The routine continued through the morning, either sitting and reading or on my knees and tossing my cookies (in this case apple juice). Between sessions in the john, I guzzled water, which stayed down about half the time. By noon, things seemed to calm down and I tried to sleep.
Then the leg cramps hit â€“ excruciating, rolling charley-horse cramps that ran from foot to thigh. One moment I was asleep, the next writing on the floor like a rabid dog, yelping in pain. During more than one of the attacks, my digestive system decided to assert its dominance so I had to crawl to the nearest bathroom to add more to the Thompson septic system while trying to massage the cramps out of my legs.
Amy, fortunately, ran errands on Saturday and missed most of my humiliation. I could calm the leg cramps in the hot tub but it was too far from the nearest bathroom.
By 6 p.m. the trips to the bathroom had dropped to about once an hour so I crawled into the hot tub and let the rush of water ease the cramps.
At 6:45, I crawled into bed and slept soundly for the next six hours.
Amy said Saturday was a gorgeous day.
Sorry I missed it.
11 thoughts on “No more blackened catfish”
Deputy Dawg must have gotten revenge with this.
Reminds me of a food poisoning episode my entire family came down with. The worst part was 3 people affted and only 2 bathrooms.
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