It's never pretty to see blood, especially if it's your own. What was supposed to be a night of gay(!) merry-making at O Bar (J. Nakpil, Malate) ended up as fluorescent stopover at the emergency room of Makati Medical Center.
Hyperacidity has long been a nuisance to me, aggravated by countless meal-skippings and caffeine indulgence. I've been on medication long enough to know that what I have is not your ordinary, OTC, Kremil-S hyperacidity.
I actually should've known better than to invite a bad attack. But I never expected it to be that bad. Okay, how bad? I threw up blood in the wastebasket of the female loo (sorry, Peter!). And while all that was happening, Gino and some other people were pounding on the door like crazy. Apparently, I was gone a long time, and they weren't sure what the heck happened to me. I felt so bad I couldn't hear anything anymore. I couldn't even stand because of the sharp pain in my stomach.
We made a mad, albeit clumsy dash to the car followed by more puking episodes (dude, I'll replace your wastebasket, promise). Enroute to the hospital, we ended up going to Binondo, just after Jones Bridge (so you were panicking after all, hehe).
I never liked hospitals. They smell sterile and you always expect to see a sad bunch of bystanders waiting for whomever they brought it.
They inserted a needle on my hand, and shot around three vials of liquids to help the acid and pain subside. I was just too banged up to notice.
The ER doctor said I'm no longer allowed to drink coffee and alcohol.
Tough luck. I'm giving myself two weeks.