The weekend was really the epitome of uneventful. The downward turn began on Friday when it was clear that the tummy demon possessing Neil was perhaps more sinister than the flu. I’ll spare you the traipse into territory that qualifies as “more than you need to know,” but understand that the weekend was filled with a bland diet, lots of fluids and more Star Trek reruns than you can shake a photon torpedo at.
The highlight had to be the brief outing to a local garden centre to visit their fish and bird section, followed by a stop at the grocery store. Several bottles of isotonic fluid replacement drinks for him, several bottles of wine for me. Hey, someone has to stay focused on upholding the norm…
After a really rough day yesterday, I walked to town to personify Doctor Jen, returning with assorted medications from both the standard pharmacy and the local health food/supplement shop. My blend of science and nature seems to be working as the “Zombie Boy from Planet Loo” appears to be on the mend. We did visit the doctor yesterday and are awaiting test results regarding the specific cause of the gastro-intestinal fiasco, but when telling my mom about it all on a Skype call last night, I think she nailed it as being “fish eye-itis.”
In true American reality TV fashion, my Welsh fella put aside better judgement when the nice Portuguese man extracted a well cooked fish eye from the bare-boned Red Snapper carcass we had just stripped of meat, telling us that there are still many “good bits” left in the head. With the precision of a surgeon, he sliced out a hefty chunk of spooky ocular matter from the remains of dinner. He claimed his daughters fight over who gets the eyes because they are so tasty. Uh-huh. Neil took that which I refused and ate all but the hard lump that resembled a tiny olive pit. I now think of my mom’s diagnosis and believe that this hard mass just might have been the secret antidote for “fish eye-itis.” Silly sod. Next time, eat the whole fricking thing. Pansy.
Beyond that somewhat unreasonable explanation, we’re just not sure what’s made him so ill, but signs point to the worst being over. Yay! The day will be sprinkled with intermittent spurts of work and rest as we both have plenty to get done. So, for now, my advice is:
Don’t eat fish eyes, but if you do, don’t pussy out when it comes to the pit – It just might be the best part for you. At the very least, it can’t be any worse. (However, I suggest total avoidance of the icky stuff from a fish head. That’s what I’m practising and all seems well so far…) 😉