Oh, MOTHER, do I have some nasty heartburn right now! I'm racking my brain trying to come up with what part of my whole wheat bread, mozarella cheese, turkey, and spinach sandwich that I had for lunch could have possibly caused this aching in my chest, but I'm coming up empty and rather acidic.
It's that nasty kind of heartburn that makes you feel like you have a lump sitting on top of your stomach and jamming your esophagus. Deep breaths are impossible, and I have to keep running off to the bathroom to burp (I work in a small room with 3 other people, I don't want to be unpleasant). Every time I swallow I feel like I have a lump in my throat. Unpleasant.
I've had trouble with heartburn over the last few years. Heartburn that has been so debilitating that it's caused me to have to pull over and throw up out the side of my car, and I'm just hoping that it doesn't progress that far.
The first debilitating incident of heartburn happened one evening after my husband and I had gorged ourselves on food from the Hawaiian restaurant down the street. I got a little stomach ache, and then this pain spread through my entire back, screaming out of my nerve endings and lighting me up like a wildfire. I didn't realize it at the time that it was heartburn; I thought it was the Hawaiian food, and to my husband's dismay told him that I would never eat at that dammed restaurant again. Turns out it wasn't the food that was causing it, it was just me, and for his infinite happiness I did not boycott the restaurant. He loved that Hawaiian place and was very said when we moved away from it.
The second debilitating incident happened a few weeks after the first. It was football Sunday, and Edgar and I were having people over to the apartment that day to watch the Steelers game (yes, I married a Steelers fan). I had gone out to go to the grocery store to buy some beer. About a mile down the street, I got that stomach ache again. About a mile after that, the intense pain in my back started, so intense that I couldn't sit still. I was writhing all over the place in my seat, trying to keep the car on the road. I wasn't even able to turn around and go home. I pulled into the entrance to another apartment complex and threw up. I called Edgar to come get me. I love that man. The apartment complex was gated, so we couldn't leave the car there. He drove my car down the street to another parking lot then ran all the way back to drive me home. After the pain still hadn't gone away after a half hour, he insisted on taking me to the emergency room, even though it meant he would possibly miss the start of his football game. After waiting two hours at the emergency room, we learned that I had a weak spot in the lining along the back of my stomach, right next to the nerve that runs up your body and controls all the nerve endings in your back. Hence, when it gets irritated, inconceivable pain and discomfort.
The heartburn only happened a couple of times after that, but Edgar's mother gave me a handful of her Prilosec OTC, and popping those would take care of any heartburn.
Then came last July. The day was the day that I was flying to Indiana for a three-day trip for my bridal shower and to see my family. My flight didn't leave until later in the day, but about mid-morning the pain started again. I hadn't even eaten anything that day. The pain was so intense, unlike anything I had ever felt before. My back was on fire. I even got in the shower and ran cold water over myself, but nothing worked. There was also puke involved. I ended up becoming a crying, sobbing mess on the hall floor, begging my poor husband to make it stop, which he of course could not do. Of course, then I started thinking it was a sign that I shouldn't fly that day, so I was a complete basket case the entire flight. And on the flight back, especially when my return flight was delayed by mechanical problems for two and a half hours. I sat in the terminal whispering to myself "God didn't want me to fly out here, because now I'm going to die on the way back." Very traumatic. Apparentlly it wasn't that I was going to die on the way back, but rather that I was going to get stuck sitting next to two extremely drunk and chatty girls on the way back, one of whom spilled her vodka all over me and my library book. In the mouth, please, not on the book.
Which leads us to today. And this horrific feeling. Which has actually kind of subsided (kind of, but not all the way--i still hurt) during the time that it has taken me to write this post. So forget everything I just said.
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