Bar Belle: ’dix out

A funny thing happened on the way to a Fourth of July party, and it landed me in the hospital. It was a long, arduous journey to said hospital, as I took the road much taken by health care bureaucracy where I encountered a name-your-own-adventure style of service. More on that later.

As shocking as it may be to some — OK, most — of you, the incident was not alcohol related. I did not fall down stairs in a red-white-and-blue bender, I did not crash my car into a tree with a yellow ribbon ’round it. One of my jealous, totally useless body parts just decided to have a fireworks show of its own, and burst it did. My appendix went boom sometime Saturday afternoon when I was between hospitals. Luckily, I had just had a vat of morphine pumped into my arm, so its grand finale was reduced to a drug-induced smile and a few slurred sentences about being naked underneath my gown. More on that later.

I woke up Friday morning with food poisoning, or so I thought. Liquids were being quickly ushered out of my orifices like women and children to rescue boats on a sinking ship. I would vomit and pee myself at the same time — never knew those muscles were related. I’ll spare you the rest of the gory details, but that afternoon, I actually started feeling better. So much better that a few beers and some pizza actually stayed down while I watched a soccer match. That night, however, while the neighborhood kids and drunken adults set off fireworks with wild abandon, I was once again putting out fires raging in my stomach.

Saturday morning I was one of the first in line at an Urgent Care Center. The doctor took $35 and my blood, mumbled something about a high white blood cell count, and told me to get myself over to Jewish East for a scan. While I got right into the ER, I then had to wait an hour after drinking this horrible Mountain Dew-wannabe potion that tasted like radiation and armpit. It was during this wait that I started texting friends and family about my adventure. “I hope you’re wearing clean underwear!” my mom said. To her credit, she did jump in her car and make the three-hour trek from Dayton after I assured her my panties were pristine.

My sister-in-law came to keep me company as my phone blew up with concerned friends. Soon, my dog was taken care of and my “adult paraphernalia” had been stashed away. After the quick and painless scan, I found out I did, indeed, have an irritated appendix that needed to be removed from its hostile environment. Oh, and they don’t do surgeries at that hospital on the weekends, so I had to take a fun little ride in an ambulance to Jewish Downtown. I say fun because I had just gotten morphine.

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Long story short — it’s good to have friends and family, it’s bad to have an upset appendix, it sucks to have to call a nurse every time you have to pee, and pain pills make everything better. Now I’m ’dix free and no longer harbor a fear of hospitals. I got to lay around for a week and eat ice cream and mashed potatoes. And now my liver has more room to spread out. #Winning

The sailors say brandy
I got a sneak peek of the new Copper & Kings brandy distillery in Butchertown last weekend, and it’s mighty fine. Not only will it produce brandy, but it’ll also be a place for events, live music, meetings and first dates. The tasting room on the third floor offers a near perfect view of the Louisville skyline and can be rented out! (My birthday is in October.) I’ll have more on the brandy and the facility when it officially opens later this summer.

Drunk Texts of the Week
• You gotta shit after you shower too!
• If I keep singing 2 INXS Live Baby Live, my neibors will have me thown out of here
• Have you ever felt like a small, insignificant kernel of corn in a big pile of shit?

Send your drunk texts to shavens@leoweekly.com. My blog is at barbelle.leoweekly.com. Word.

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