One of the few acupressure points that actually seems to work on me is the one for nausea on the inside of the wrist.
When I was younger, I'd do anything to not throw-up. As I've gotten older, however, I fall more in with the whole, "Better out than in" school of thought.
Early this morning, I awoke to my stomach telling me that things were about to go all splodey, so I hie'd myself into the khazi and arranged myself properly.
Unfortunately, moving seemed to quell the savage beast, so I was sitting on the loo, getting more and more miserable by the moment, when I realized that what kept me from puking, might aid the process -- so to speak.
For those of you who don't know, the acupressure point mentioned earlier is on the inside of the wrist. You take a thumb, and press firmly and -- on me anyway -- a lot of times the urge to chunder goes away.
So, I figured if pressing on the inside of the wrist made the pukey feeling go away, then maybe pressing on the outside of the wrist might ... expedite things.
Yeah. We aren't going to touch that pressure point. Ever. Again.
That little SOB must be connected directly to the pelvic splanchnic ganglion because, while I did NOT throw up, stuff was evacuated. And a damned good thing I was sitting on the porcelain throne, might I add?
To get some idea of what happened, understand that when things cut loose, at that moment, in the Old NASA Engineers Home, several members of the Apollo Space Program made little slide-rule motions in their sleep, and smiled.
I can now positively state that my throne has been G-tested.
The .. umm ... performance was so ... umm ... dynamic, that it apparently caused my stomach to go sit in the corner and sulk, because once I got done hanging on to the walls for dear life, I wasn't all that ready to throw-up anymore and staggered back to bed.
Fast-forward some minutes, and my stomach decided that it had the perfect response to the performance earlier, so -- once more -- I fling back the covers and high-step it to the bathroom.
Where I discover that apparently my stomach likes opera. Wagner, actually.
To get some idea of the next several minutes, I'd like you to think of that classic Bugs Bunny cartoon using opera, the one where Elmer Fudd is the viking out to "Kill da Wab-bit!" take the score, and replace the words of the song with variations of "Blargh!" and a gentle undertone of, "Ohgodohgodohgod."
Blargh--bl-bl-blargh, blargh! Blargh, bl-bl-blargh, blargh! BLLAAAAARRGH!!!
In true Wagnerian fashion it went on. And on. And on.
Finally, my stomach dug down deeeep for the last aria, put down the baton, re-fastened the bow-tie, adjusted the tails just so, and regarded my lower GI tract with a "Hmph".
So, how was your day?