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Food Poisoning Sucks!

indaswamp

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So...
I finished making the boudin yesterday and since I was on my feet for most of the day, I just wanted to sit and relax for the afternoon. Did not feel like cooking. (I'm single so if I'm gonna eat a home cooked meal, it's on me to cook it). I went down to the local fried chicken place as they have fried catfish on fridays...It's pretty good fried catfish....usually. I get it to go...
I can usually eat the whole thing. But only ate 1/2 of it. Then my acid reflux started up and man it was really kicking my butt! I went to sleep in my recliner just to ease the reflux a little. I woke projectile vomiting around 2am in the morning....Then again around 6am...
My guts were really burning as what didn't come out made it's way through my intestines. I managed to catch a nap once my stomach settled down a bit, but around 7:30am the explosive diarrhea started up. That lasted until around 10am. I called a friend that is a Physicians Assistant and she called in a script for antibiotics. I'm takin those and eatin probotic yogurt. Hope it helps....
 

indaswamp

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It was a friday during lent... They were slammed for orders of fried fish. Only thing I can figure is something happend with how they were handling/thawing that large of a volume of fish. I saw some new faces at the dinner....I hope they did not make a bunch of people sick.....
 

HalfSmoked

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Yup have top agree that's no fun.

Warren
 

dr k

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Get well soon. I thought I had the flu right before Halloween and it was 2 days of puking no issues on the other end and my stomach/esophagus was burning. Definitely was a foodbourne pathogen from outside my home.
 

tx smoker

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Man Keith, my heart goes out to you. The wife and I drove to Wichita KS for Christmas with the family. Wife's sister managed to food poison all of us at Christmas dinner. We were up sick all night. She had it coming out of one end and I had it coming out the other. We were in and out of the bathroom all night like a game of musical chairs. Finally about 3:00 in the morning we decided there wasn't going to be any sleep so we packed up and left. She slept most of the way home (typical for her) and I drove. That was the absolute worst 650 mile drive of my life. Didn't think we'd ever get home. Finally pulled into the garage and I didn't even bother unpacking....went straight to bed. I still cringe when I think back on that experience...and that miserable drive. They can come down here next year :emoji_wink:

Merry Christmas?? I don't think so,
Robert
 

daveomak

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The Steakhouse Incident


Now, I know that there is a lot of embellishment that occurs on this group and I am aware that a small number of things are perhaps sheer fabrication, but I have a story to tell that is the absolute truth. Funniest damn thing that has ever happened to me.


A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment.

We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps a bit too much, however.

I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches right at the table without to much concern. Unfortunately, that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress...

I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good shit, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagonal wire cutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a shit. I went to the normal stall.

In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical proportions.

I began "The Move."

For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain "The Move." Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of shit at the exact same second that ones ass is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.

I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch. What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can.

In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crotched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over shit no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since shitting will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted.

At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of shit the consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass. But remember, I was only half-way down on the toilet at that moment. The shit wave was of such force and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down.

Recall that when that event occurred, I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the shit wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls, like what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of shit remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.

Now, back to the vomit...

While all the shitting was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles.

In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet.

In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in shit that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid shit. All while thick shit was spread all over my ass in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat.

And there was no fucking toilet paper.

What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left. At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.

About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being. She left.

The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage of just slightly above. At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose.

Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little bastard kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.

When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the front door.

The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.
 

chef jimmyj

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WOW DAVE!!!! Dante' could use that story to describe a whole New Ring of HELL!
You have no idea how kind of you it was to clean up. I WAS one of those minimum wage workers, at Friendly's, when I was told I needed to clean up a mess in the Men's Room. I made matters worse, as upon inspection of the devastation, added my Dinner of Clams Strips, Fries and Cole Slaw to the mix...JJ
 

Braz

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I SO wanted to stop reading that. Believe me I tried. Did your long suffering wife choose a tasteful wardrobe? Mine would have bought a clown suit or something equally demeaning just to punish me.
 

tx smoker

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"Now, I know that there is a lot of embellishment that occurs on this group and I am aware that a small number of things are perhaps sheer fabrication, but I have a story to tell that is the absolute truth. Funniest damn thing that has ever happened to me."

Wow Dave, that's quite a situation to be in. I applaud you for having the courage to share but most importantly for finding humor at a time when most folks would be mortified to have that happen to them. Also sounds like you have a very understanding and supportive wife :emoji_laughing: I honestly don't know how my wife would respond in a situation like that....but I'm sure I'll find out one day.

Dreading but expecting that day,
Robert
 

2008RN

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Dave, Thanks for the story! As a RN, I have get the fortune to clean up such messes, I am not minimum wage though. I admire your strength to clean such a mess, and actually tell people about it!
 

chef jimmyj

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Tx...Those fine Ladies are out there. 26 years ago I spent 5 days and nights on our Bathroom Floor. Some improperly stored Fresh Garlic in Oil was added to a pizza I ate.
By day 3 I was too weak to get up off the floor. That which continued to come out both ends just spilled on the floor. My Wife of only 4 years, cleaned me and the floor repeatedly, always being comforting and sympathetic. It's now 30 years we have been together. SHE is the greatest part of my life...JJ
 

kit s

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Well seems Inaswamp and Dave had to deal with some of the perils of oh Shiest as well as lookout here comes dinner still almost recognizable as went it went down.
If it wasn't so serious it probably would have been funny.
Mine was not as sever, unless you count being in basic training, and standing with about 180 other guys in a room that probably was rated to hold less than 100 most for the same reason. The worse part of that (not counting the shot) was that every once in a while someone would pass out. Seems they had spinal meningitis. So we were sort of quarantined and it seemed like they poke more needles in us than a porcupine has.
 

tx smoker

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"Tx...Those fine Ladies are out there. 26 years ago I spent 5 days and nights on our Bathroom Floor. Some improperly stored Fresh Garlic in Oil was added to a pizza I ate.
By day 3 I was too weak to get up off the floor. That which continued to come out both ends just spilled on the floor"


Well Chef JJ, I digress. Your story reminds me of one we went through, although not nearly as severe as yours. Back in 2010 I had 6 reconstructive surgeries done on my hands. A lifetime in the construction industry took it's toll. The first two were for severe (and I mean SEVERE) Carpal Tunnel on both hands. Arms and hands were totally dead all the way to the shoulders. I didn't want to go through the process twice so I insisted that both hands get done at the same time. Surgeons DO NOT want to do both hands at the same time because it basically leaves a person incapacitated for a lengthy amount of time. I had so sign a waiver before they would agree to do surgery on both the same day. Of course, doctors are going to give you a worst case scenario telling me it'd be at least 2 months before I could open a door and up to a year before I could ride my motorcycle. I proved them wrong but in the mean time they prepared my wife for having to take care of me during trips to the bathroom and a number of other things. She agreed and the surgery proceeded. Turned out that I was able to open the door from the garage to the house when we got home from the hospital immediately after the surgery. Surgery was done on Friday and I was riding my motorcycle the following Wednesday, 5 days after surgery, and I was able to take care of myself on trips to the bathroom. The only issues I had were taking showers and buttoning / unbuttoning my jeans. With casts on both arms all the way to the elbow it was not an option to get them wet. Wife agreed to take care of me during bathroom stops but blessedly didn't have to. She did however bathe me every morning for the better part of two weeks. We solved the problem of the jeans by going to Academy and getting several pairs of sweat pants that actually looked like slacks. Point being is that I agree with you 100%: Those ladies are out there. It takes a special woman and a special bond to agree to what my wife agreed to do and for that I will be forever grateful. I have been there for several times when she was in dire straits but fortunately, except for showers (which I thoroughly enjoyed!!) she has not had to take care of me in that capacity....yet.

Robert
 

indaswamp

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Get well soon. I thought I had the flu right before Halloween and it was 2 days of puking no issues on the other end and my stomach/esophagus was burning. Definitely was a foodbourne pathogen from outside my home.
Man Keith, my heart goes out to you. The wife and I drove to Wichita KS for Christmas with the family. Wife's sister managed to food poison all of us at Christmas dinner. We were up sick all night. She had it coming out of one end and I had it coming out the other. We were in and out of the bathroom all night like a game of musical chairs. Finally about 3:00 in the morning we decided there wasn't going to be any sleep so we packed up and left. She slept most of the way home (typical for her) and I drove. That was the absolute worst 650 mile drive of my life. Didn't think we'd ever get home. Finally pulled into the garage and I didn't even bother unpacking....went straight to bed. I still cringe when I think back on that experience...and that miserable drive. They can come down here next year :emoji_wink:

Merry Christmas?? I don't think so,
Robert
Dude, sorry about the food poisoning!! Take it easy and get well soon.
Thanks guys for your concern. Still a little weak but I'm able to keep a little food down, a banana and some bread. Bout to crash. Good night.
 

skidog

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That sucks indaswamp, hope your feeling alot better today.
Holy shit Dave!! I almost shit my pants laughing at your story!! I would have been laughing too.
As someone who lives by themselves getting sick really does suck. Especially when you puke so hard you shit your pants, ask me how I know. There is no one to let the dog out, get you water etc. everything you have to do while being so sick you can hardly stand. I used to get up from bed, go puke in the bathroom, get to living room and rest, then struggle down the steps trying to contain myself, get the dog leashed and let him out. Brutal.
I used to clean buildings and one day while cleaning 24 floors worth of bathrooms we walked into the ladies bathroom opened the stall door and the smell and visual of what I can only compare to a 5 pound chocolate bar being melted over the whole toilet tank area, hit us and we walked back out, only then did we look at each other and ask wtf had we just witnessed? We refused to clean it, supervisor did, next day we got yelled at. Much better than having to clean the mess.
 

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