Those of you who are longtime readers (all three of you?) will remember my bout last year with my gall bladder that lost its will to live. If you missed out on that and don’t mind losing time that you’ll never get back, you can read all about the drama here.

Last September, I thought my worries over whether or not what I ate would come back to haunt me in a few hours were gone. I could eat without a care. And for a while I did.

But two weeks ago, I woke up in the middle of the night with a sour burp. The last time this happened I was in middle school and it happened as a result of eating one of those canned spaghetti dinners a la Chef Boyardee or Spaghettios. When this sour burp comes along, what follows in the next few hours is an intimate relationship with the toilet and a small yellow plastic trash can.

So naturally, when I recognized the foul taste in my mouth, I immediately curled up in a ball and waited for the invevitable. Let me just say, I DESPISE throwing up. I would rather be in bed for days running a fever and having aches and pains than to clutch that nasty yellow trash can one more time. If I even think the remote possibility of throwing up exists, I go nowhere. If I feel the slightest bit nauseous, it ain’t happening.

So two weeks ago, I had to pull out the yellow trash can. People, I’ve had this thing for 20 years. I kid you not. It’s The Throwup Pail. I’ll probably pass it down to my children. It will be an heirloom that one day my granddaughter will tell my great-granddaughter during her first bout with blow-chunk-itis, “You know, your great-grandma used this same bucket when she had to throw up.” And they will bond and they will fondly think of me, sitting on my “throne” and hurling into the rectangular plastic container.

Anyway, that drama came and went. I missed two days of work — one for the throwing up and the next because I was dehydrated. But I recovered and feeling good, and I got back into my exercise routine, and then yesterday afternoon, it happened again. There I was with Hubby, walking around Tar-jay (where the lights are still working properly), and the sour burp came again.

This time, there were tears. I so didn’t want to be sick again. This was ridiculous. I had had nothing unusual to eat all day — nothing that was out of the ordinary for me: yogurt, a peanut butter sandwich, an apple, a small bag of Doritos, cheese, and some crackers. What was the harm in that?

Regardless, around 10 pm last night, I grabbed my trusty yellow friend and expelled what little I had left in my system. So today I went to the doctor, and his diagnosis is reflux. He said the sour burp is acid, so he’s putting me on Nexium for six months.

I was hoping that I could avoid using up my sick days in the first quarter of the year, but apparently, that’s not going to be the case. *huge sigh*

All I can say is this stuff better work.