The Sam and Ella Diet

I remember waking up on a beautiful, sunny summer day in 1961. It should have been one of those carefree summer vacation days that kids live for, but I had a belly ache. By nine in the morning I was on the kitchen floor, doubled up in pain, and crying like a baby. I had appendicitis. My mom called the doctor, who told her to bring me right in.

"Okay Alan, drop your pants and bend over."
I looked at my mom, and she assured me it would be alright.
"Does that hurt?" the doctor asked.
I was an eleven year old boy with a full grown mans index finger shoved all the way up my ass. Of course it hurt! It hurt like hell.
"Well Alan, I know it is a bit uncomfortable, but what I'm asking is does it hurt even more when I do this?", and he proceeded to poke his finger to the left, and then to the right, then up, then down.
I guess he figured by the decibels of my screams which direction hurt the most. By that afternoon I was in the hospital undergoing an emergency appendectomy.

This last Wednesday as I prepared for going over to walk dogs at Abandoned Pet Rescue, I felt a twinge in my tummy. I figured I'd better take care of that before going out, so I made a visit to the bathroom. By the time I was done walking dogs, and on the way home, that uncontrollable urge returned. It was only by a hair that I made it to the toilet in time. As the day progressed the pain increased, and I wore a path to and from the bathroom. I had food poisoning.

Now Mark insisted that it wasn't his food that did me in, and I pretty much agree. We both had eaten identical meals for the last few days, with one exception, breakfast. Mark likes his eggs scrambled, and I love mine 'sunny side up'. I love to dip an English muffin into the runny yolk. I've always had my eggs that way.

Mark had been warning me for weeks that I was playing with fire considering all the egg recalls, but I pooh, poohed his chicken shittedness. Real men eat their eggs runny. Apparently real men also get stomach cramps from hell, and shit until their asses turn into something resembling ground beef. It wasn't a pretty sight, me sitting on the toilet unloading from one end while leaning forward with the waste bucket in front of me, barfing my brains out. I have never experienced that before, puking and pooping at the same time, and I wouldn't wish it on anybody. I was a mess, and even slugging down a bottle of Pepto and overdosing on Imodium didn't put a dent in it.

So why didn't I go to the doctor on Thursday and get some help? It was Rosh Hashanah. Since every doctor in South Florida is Jewish, and took Thursday and Friday off, my only alternative was the hospital emergency room. I know how long it takes to be seen in a hospital emergency room, and I decided that the comfort of my own bathroom would be better than the one in the hospital waiting room. By the way I'm all better now. It took about three days to run (no pun intended) its course, and I'm fine. I'll just have to get used to scrambled eggs from now on.