The Chicken Noodle Soup Theorem
I apologize up front for the nature of this post. Those with a weak constitution may want to stop reading. I have come to a realization that may one day change the world. Probably not. But who’s to say Pythagoras or John Nash knew what they had stumbled upon when documenting ideas about triangles or equilibriums. They probably weren’t even the first to realize the concepts they are credited with. They were, however, the first to record the idea. So here I am, recording my earth shattering epiphany for future generations to use in ways I couldn’t even imagine, to help shape the future of mankind. (If we survive past 12/21/12 of course.)
IVFmale’s Chicken Noodle Soup Theorem.
Chicken Noodle Soup with Ginger Ale causes really stinky farts.
How did I come to this ground breaking realization you may ask? Good question. For the past 2 days I’ve been sicker than a dog who was binge eating at an all-you-can-eat trash heap.
I woke up Tuesday morning feeling a little nauseous. After concluding I couldn’t be pregnant, since I’m infertile and a male, I knew something was wrong. I’ll take a stuffy runny nose and coughing my head off any day over nausea and vomiting. I sat up in bed holding my cramping belly as I broke out in a 5 alarm fever sweat all over my body.
Still I deluded myself into thinking I would be fine. “It’s just gas,” I tricked myself into believing as I sat down to the bowl of cereal the wife fixed for me. Two bites later, I had to stop. If I was going to maintain control over my bodily functions, eating more food was out of the question.
I sat at the table in meditation, trying to keep my stomach from rejecting the food it had just been offered. I informed the wife I would take the day off as a precaution, but reassured her it was probably nothing serious. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
While maintaining a calm composure, focusing on keeping my stomach soothed; I felt a pressure in my lower digestive system that made getting to the restroom an immediate priority. I now understand how someone could label the effect as “exploding”, because that’s what happened the moment I sat down. If it hadn’t been for the extra weight I carry around with me, I probably would have achieved liftoff.
When the episode was over, I clean myself up and sprayed the room heavily with Lysol; while the wife directed me through the closed door were I could find the medication needed to fix my “problem.” Scanning the closet shelf I found the bottle holding the magic pills I prayed would bring me relief. I popped two pills in my mouth with a handful of water before remembering my lower digestive system wasn’t the only problem I was having that morning.
Too late! Burying my head in the toilet bowl, my stomach rejected the medication, along with what little I had eaten for breakfast, and much of what remained from the previous night’s dinner. In this position I found myself thankful. Thankful that I had already flushed the toilet before attempting to find the medication.
When I finally emerged from the bathroom after both the upper and lower parts of my digestive system had taken a couple of turns being ill, I was greeted with a caring pity look from the wife and an uncaring “I wan’t to play” look from the puppy. I sat on the couch feigning ignorance about my prior prediction about “being alright” and found myself thankful once again. We had cold bottles of regular Sprite in the refrigerator. Food was out of the question, but with both ends threatening to cause me dehydration, I needed something with calories that might calm my stomach.
Slowly I started sipping the soda knowing the likely result. Sure enough, I found myself bowing to the porcelain god once again. Only this time the lower end decided it wasn’t willing to take turns anymore. Leaving me to make some snap decisions on how to handle the situation. Seated on the bowl with my face directed towards the sink, I was mostly successful at avoiding a complete disaster. During a brief lull, I begged my saint of a wife to bring me the large soup pot, the Clorox cleaning wipes, and a change of clothes.
Now armed with a defensive strategy to handle both issues at once, I somehow managed to clean up the mess between attacks. The wife went out and picked up some more nausea medication and a bottle of ginger ale, for I needed to fix that problem before addressing the other one. That’s how I spent the rest of Tuesday…shivering on the couch in a cold sweat feeling like I was just ran over by a bus, or sitting on the toilet with my head buried in a large soup pot while cursing my own existence.
I knew I had to keep drinking fluids, but little was working. I attempted orange juice, but there was no hope in keeping that down, so I stuck with sipping on ginger ale trying to get the upper half of my digestive system back under control. At the end of Tuesday, my entire digestive track was clean as a whistle, which I never understood that phrase since blowing on a whistle after someone else isn’t very hygienic, but I digress. Let’s just say I had visual evidence there was nothing left in my digestive system and leave it at that.
After a night of successfully maintaining control over my upper half, I attempted to eat a few bites of chicken noodle soup Wednesday morning. My stomach waited a whole 20 minutes before rejecting the latest offering. I viewed this delay as progress and made another attempt a couple hours later. When an hour passed after my second attempt with the soup, I braved another assault on the problem with my lower digestive system. Two more magic pills with a sip of ginger ale.
Ah…sweet success. A little more chicken soup and sips of ginger ale, soon my digestive issues were under control. Albeit only barely thanks to meditation and nausea medication allowing the Imodium pills a chance to keep working. When the lower digestive pressure alarm triggered, I assumed my now customary seated position holding a large soup bowl in my lap. Thinking how thankful I was we only have two ends of our digestive track to worry about, because I couldn’t have handled a third. Just gas! Hurrah, hallelujah thank the…cough, gasp, choke, oh my god where is that can of Lysol?
I bowed my head in prayer to the heavily used large soup pot before me, trying to keep down what little I had eaten over the last few hours. Where once I was thankful for not having a sinus problem at the same time as a stomach problem, I now wished otherwise. My ability to still smell was about to foil everything and cause my body to betray me once again. (Keeping in mind I hadn’t showered in two days and only accomplished properly brushing half my teeth the morning prior before suffering another attack. Thank goodness for mouthwash!)
My free hand found the can of Lysol providing not only some aromatic relief, but also gifting my arm with extended reach to turn on the exhaust fan without risking any further stomach jostling. Victory had been preserved!
I survived the ordeal to spread the word about the dangers of eating chicken noodle soup and drinking ginger ale with fully functional olfactories.
YOU’VE BEEN WARNED!