I watched Robocop last night, and the excessive violence and Ronny Cox managed to jam my digestion somewhere around the descending colon. A. tried to rub my back, and I did some stretches, but to no avail. This is really one of those interesting things about ulcerative colitis, and I believe it can show up with other digestive disorders, namely, the back pain. The last time I had major back pain, it was a herald for the ER flare. I did not get it, then. I didn’t understand that the best thing to ride out a flare with is loads of water, sleep, light-light-light food and absolutely no stress. Ha.
It took me three days of struggling through work, coming home to loll on the couch with a heating pad, and spilling broth A. made me before I drove my ass down there, parked illegally and got a gallon of morphine.
Man, I’m as badass as Murphy. Or Lewis. They’re both pretty tough.
Call me moronic, but I love that movie. Even better is (was?) the edited for television cut, with such FCC-appropriate gems as:
“You just finked with the wrong guy!”
“Ladies, leave.” (original line: Bitches, leave. Why, Clarence! You’ve grown gentlemanly!)
“You’re outta your freauhking mind!”
I wish you could buy edited-for-TV movies, just for the sheer hilarity.
But I do love that movie, even more so after being diagnosed, because though there might not be much comparison between a robotic cop and a library science student with ulcerative colitis, the idea of trading some of my organs for plastic or metal parts because I just won’t survive or work right without them, well, we are somewhat alike. And that’s my poor analogy for the day.
Plus, the fake news and commercials! Hilarious!
As for the back pain, that may be attributed to the pile of cherry slices candy I ate last night while watching the show. But you never know. I’ll be watching this back pain closely, this time.