TMI Thursday: The Sashimi Strikes Back

In case you aren't aware of the goings-on of my internal organs, I've been down one since the fall of 2006. You can read my five-part recounting of the Ordeal, if you'd like. Just know that it involves a lot of sweat and lusting after blond nurses:

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

While there are many advantages to not having a gall bladder anymore (not being racked with pain sits right at the top of the list), there are also a few drawbacks. This is a story of one of them.

The gall bladder is a little sac hanging off the liver that stores bile. Bile is used in the processing, handling, and digesting of fatty foods. When fatty foods are ingested, the liver starts kicking out lots of bile in order to help with the digestion of said foods. Normally, excess bile is stored in the gall bladder and released as needed into the gut. However, when there is no gall bladder present, all the bile just gets shunted into the intestines and the body does with it what it will.

Now, the thing about bile is that it, too, is awfully greasy. It has a lot of cholesterol and such in it. So, one thing that you're not supposed to do when you've had your gall bladder removed is eat any particularly greasy, fatty meals. If you do, make sure a toilet is nearby because about 20 minutes after you've finished, you're going to feel the Apocalypse breaking out in your bowels. Once you find the toilet, Armageddon is played out, and then you're relatively fine. Hungry. But fine, nonetheless.

The problem is, I wasn't told all the things that one shouldn't eat. I mean, there are obvious ones, like meatball sandwiches or double-bacon cheeseburgers and fries or shots of olive oil. Apparently, one of the things you shouldn't eat is sushi. I learned this the hard way. Or should I say, "The soft, squishy, brown and redolent way"?

We went to lunch one day at a local sushi joint where a curvy redhead had poured herself in a dress three sizes too small and served as the seating hostess for the day. We ordered our lunch, which was brought to the table in a respectable amount of time and we proceeded to eat what turned out to be a fairly good lunch. I had the "sushi platter", but I don't remember what was on it, so please don't ask. It was very tasty and I thought, "Oh, I should come here more often. The food is good, the price is acceptable, and, well, the hostess doesn't know how to dress."

We finished up our lunch and departed for work. At the time, I worked in the off-the-main-site-facility, so I had ridden over to the restaurant with my friend. About halfway back to the lab, Christ opened the sixth seal, and the tell-tale rumbling began in my lower GI tract, warning me of impending doom.

Now, a couple of weeks ago, you all learned about the tensile strength and uncanny coordination of my rectum; I need not repeat it now. It was, however, a good thing, as I sat there in the passenger seat, clenching so tightly that I was sure diamonds would fall out of my ass when I let go. North Carolina roads happen to be shitty, so I'm sitting there, in misery, clenching, feeling the cauldron of my guts bubble bubble toil and trouble away, and on top of all that, we're riding over a stretch of highway that I could have sworn was shelled by the enemy the night before, given the size, frequency and depth of the potholes.

Drive faster, Joe! I screamed in my mind. I don't want to ruin your upholstery!

Finally, we arrive back at work. I slowly make my way across the parking lot--I'm already sweating bullets, but the high heat and humidity and the roasting asphalt of the parking lot are not helping. Finally, I make it into the building and I try--as delicately as possible--to climb the stairs to the second floor where the labs are. I excuse myself and timidly make my way to the restroom. There, I settle into my stall, sitting down, finally unclenching and letting nature run its course.

I unleashed the fury.

Did I mention bile stinks? It does. Badly. Not only that, but it burns. Oh, does it burn. As I unleashed the fury, I'm fairly certain that a plume of flame erupted forth from my ass, burning brightly in the sky for all to see like the triumphant return of Comet Kohoutek. Finally, as my innards disgorged that most unpleasant shit monsoon, I heaved a sigh of relief. Sushi was definitely off the menu.

I got up to clean up, and, because I'm a guy, I checked out my handiwork. Being that I've seen my own shit countless times, I wasn't surprised by that part of what huddled in the bowl. No, it was the oily sheen on the surface of the water that bothered me most. There it was, a rainbow of fish oil, shimmering in the light, misplaced over the bog monster lurking in the depths below. Despite the iridescent glow cloaking the surface of the water, I was certain beyond the shadow of a doubt that there was not a pot of gold at the end of it.

For the first time in my life, I nearly caused myself to vomit with my own poo. Fortunately, I had just shit the contents of my stomach into the bowl, so nothing came up. Unfortunately, the dry heave was powerful enough that it caused me to double over, placing my face within a very uncomfortable proximity to the gleaming surface of the bowl. This is how I am quite certain that bile carries with it a very unpleasant aroma.

Why bring this up now? Well, funny you should ask. Tomorrow, one of my co-workers is leaving the company to go back to graduate school, and she has requested to go to lunch at the very same restaurant where this unsightly and liquid brown adventure began. So, tomorrow, when I set out for lunch, I'll be sure to hitch a ride with whichever one of my friends has the fastest car.