Lactulose Intolerent & the Strength of Little Boys

From a medical perspective it was a pretty slow week. Wednesday I had a meeting with Jennifer, my substance abuse therapist. It was our last one, I can go back if I’d like but I told her I wouldn’t be coming back, I enjoyed talking to her and if she’d like to meet me half way we could arrange something. Mostly we talked about my family and kids, it was nice, sure, she’s trained to be empathetic but I think she is especially good at it. If you didn’t know I’m officially listed with UNOS for a liver, so that’s good news and I’m headed to Indiana University in September to go through a battery of tests to see if they’ll consider putting me on their list as well. All good news.

The one hurdle of the week is dealing with the lactulose, apparently, people with liver disease sometimes have bile back up, which creates ammonia, which in turn decides to settle in the head and put pressure on the brain or somehow generally disrupt its function. People who are sick call it Brain Fog, the Meds call it dementia or confusion, either way, if I have it, I don’t have it too badly.

If you don’t like poop stories or are week of stomach you may want to stop reading right about HERE. Lactulose is evil. It puts new meaning into the word shit. Oh my god, 30mg, twice daily to induce stomach cramps, diarrahea, farting and anal seepage. Where do I start, first of all stuff tastes like really bad pancake syrup, nasty, sticky sweetly rancid. It doesn’t go down to badly though, I’m sure I’ve had worse in my mouth. About an hour or so after the dose the grumblings start. Sort of musical, like an interesting wet gurgle, liquid resettling and sloshing around a bit, no so bad. Cramps, okay, I know it is a completely different kind of cramp but I know completely sympathize with every woman on the planet that has suffered from cramps. I can feel my stomach knotting and churning and trying to twist into itself and away from itself. It feels like a cannon ball right below my sternum. In the 80’s there were rumors about gay folks taking a hamster or gerbil and shoving them up there anus. These cramps feel like a whole habitrail full of hamsters and a couple of them giving birth where living in my stomach and large intestine. The farting, well, not so bad, really, long, loud and entertaining if you allow yourself to channel the junior high school boy inside of you. The kicker, you got it, the big D, assquake, colon blow, poop smoothie, the hersey squirts and my personal favorite fireball atomic sludge. As I’m experience this sensation I have to wonder… is it on fire, it feels flammable, keep open flames at a distance please, the cramps come back, I have to clench my teeth and hold on to the nearest solid object so I won’t blow get blown away. Then there are always multiple tips back into the Lou, sometimes six an hour, sometimes less, as time goes by they sort of trail away, until the next dosage, about 12 hours later. Always something to look forward to, by the way, I was just kidding about the anal seepage and I do apologize for the grossness of this post.

They say kids know things even when they don’t know things, that they’re able to pick up on the current vibe. That being said, my wife and I felt it was important for me to have a talk with my boy, my little five year old mischievous angel, sometimes devil. I know he can be a little devil because sometimes when the light hits him just right I see little horn buds beginning to sprout off his forehead. I haven’t been procrastinating, but I wanted to make sure the timing was right and I knew what to say without freaking him out to much, yet sharing the right amount of info with him. So after talking to my wife, a couple of counselors I kind of had it figured out. Due to some coming and going of visitors, work, play time and not wanting to have a heavy conversation close to his bed time I didn’t get the opportunity to talk to him until this morning.

He was up and running around downstairs when I woke and I was determined to do it this morning before I left for work. After morning hugs and kisses I asked him to have a seat in my office and I’d be in shortly. I poked my head in, he was sitting on the floor, quietly knowing something was up, Pokémon sticker book in hand. I suggested he get Dora chair so he could be more comfortable, it’s a purple, plush, mushy children’s arm chair with Dora on the back. Perfect actually. I sat down, turned to my boy, he looked up at me with his big beautiful brown eyes he got from his mother inquisitively.

“Son, have you noticed I sleep a lot? And I’m more tired than normal?” I said.

“Do you want to do the sticker book with me?” he asked.

“Sure, when we’re done talking, this is important, you know how I’m tired a lot”

He nodded.

“Well, I’m sick son.”

“I don’t see a booboo?”

“It’s on the inside of me.”

“Are you going to get a shot?”

“Yeah, probably a lot of shots.”

“How are they going to give you a shot inside you?” he asked?

“They’re going to operate.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, they’ll cut me open and fix me.”

“Where will they cut you?”

I drew an imaginary line down my chest and over my belly. “Here.”

“Will it hurt? He asked and I nodded.

“Are you going to be dead?” he asked?

I shook my head and said no.

“Bene’s dad was sick and he’s dead.”

“I know son, I’ll be okay, I just wanted to share what was going on with me, let you know I love and ask you if you have any question.”

He shook his head no. “What’s that?” he said as he pointed to my face.

“It’s a tear son.” I replied as he touched it and rubbed it in.
He rubbed my belly, looked into my eyes and hugged me and I held him, feeling his tiny wee body and hoping the best for him in this life and hoping I’d be there to see a lot more of it.

“Why is your voice funny daddy?”

“I’m just so proud to have you as my boy son.”

“Do you want to do stickers now?” he said as he held my hand and led me into the living room. I nodded silently.