Dark Night of my H. Pylori Soul



Things were going really great. Life was suspiciously working out in such a wonderful way that I should of known something real shitty was around the bend.

In the family of my new roommates, in the new house, in the new village, in my new office, we ate a delicious dahl dinner that Mario made. I’ve had scotches older than Mario—but at 21, he’s an incredible musician, and has a huge, grounded heart that radiates with pure intentions.

But even the best intentions can lead to diarrhea. The dahl was delicious. The company kind. The candle-lit evening above the sunsetting shores of Lake Atitlan was a serenading song of delight.

But something was living inside of me. Something that liked to eat lentils very much. I woke up unsure of what to do first, vomit or evacuate—both bodily functions were begging. 


From midnight till dawn, I went from my chosen place to vomit to the toilet (when you have an outhouse, you don’t vomit in the bathroom [why not? Think about it dude]). 

Shortly after the 5am birds clocked in, I had a moment. It was a moment of surrender—After puking and shitting my guts out for hours, giving all I had—wondering how one body could fit so much fluid—I rested on the cool stones of my court yard—robe open—naked and reposed on the cold stones—surrendered—serene—a meek moment between mayhem.


Then all the fire ants decided to bite at once—most went for the genitals—obvious why I guess—they’re the juiciest part and they were blocking the ant’s front door. 

Lab Report Confirms: Son, You Got That H. Pylori. No!!!!

Where did I get the H. pylori? Hard to say. Maybe from that strange soup in Mexico? Or was it the grill in Kenya where over the course of three months I tried all parts of the goat? (Including the brain, which means that according to one endangered tribe in the Amazon, I ate its soul.)

Well over half the world has H. Pylori, and as I’ve hit up a fourth of the world, eaten from suspect market grills, swam in dubious rivers, and kissed one of its Canadian cod, I could have gotten the H. pylori anywhere. 

And if I ate a goat’s soul, I’m half goat—which is to say, twice as susceptible to H. Pylori. 

What Every Human Should Know About H. Pylori 

Helicobacter pylori is a nearly impossible to defeat spiral shaped bacterium which colonizes your digestive system and makes people feel helpless—to treat or not to treat? 

Our little H. pylori guys can survive in hydrochloric acid (the acid your stomach produces to break down food), and then it likes penetrate the lining of the stomach because it rolls like a miscroscopic gangster. 

Some estimates say 75% of the world’s population is infected with the H Pylori. So uncle Gary probably had it. Same with Aunt JoAnn. 


Something like 90% of stomach ulcers are from H. pylori.
And I used to kiss a girl who had stomach ulcers (it’s not as gross as it sounds). And some dumb university in Arizona just did this stupid study that shows seems to indicate H. pylori can be spread through salavia. Is there anything this bacterium can’t do?!

I hate this study so much, because now I don’t want to kiss anyone unless they defecate in a cup and take it to a lab to have themselves tested for a bacteria infection that most of the world has.

I could go on about H. pylori but if you want more info, Google it. And it you want to kiss me, you’ll need to produce a lab test from a study of your feces conducted in the last two months. 


Western medicine treats H. pylori by prescribing a hard-core regiment of triple therapy – that’s two hard-core antibiotics and a stomach acid inhibitor—and this is only like 50% effective. 



For things like this, I tend to go the natural route of treatment. Western medicine is trigger happy on all its nuclear options.

But from information online, the advise and my brother Dr. Calvin, the advice of my wise friend Cindy, and my own troubled bowels, it seemed like I should go nuclear on this. 


“What drugs should I take!” I asked, my Dr. brother. And because my brother didn’t want a malpractice suit on his latex covered hands, he said:

So I up and did it, I went on the antibiotics. I finished ny regime the day before I went into silence. 
Yesterday, I caught about to return to the lab at the other side of the lake.
They emailed my results later that day. With fingers crossed, I open the email – and – drumroll please –

Scroll down 

Read this crappy lab repost.


Victory!

For the moment, I’m H. pylori free. But I will keep my fingers crossed and knock on many pieces of wood with those crossed fingers—if it’s anything like the fire ants, who’s door I block with melted wax, it could very well find its way back to me. 

So I am re-reading the articles I’ve about how to stay healthy on the road and think it’s high time I followed my own advice religiously. 

And Seven Corners, I’m sending you the bill :) 

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