Sonny was a man who liked to tolerate intolerable pain once in a while as it made him feel alive. He could sense which pains were temporary and sit them out through their process of manifestation, no matter how excruciating they were. On occasion he endured profound discomfort in the upper abdomen, which was particularly sharp on the right side. He attributed it at first to compounded gas in his intestines and figured the best way to relieve the bloating was to ingest anti-gas tablets which would neutralize the situation. However, these pills did not always do the trick. It became clear during a visit to the doctor that a stone had developed in his gallbladder about 12 mm in length, which was visible when a ultrasound scan was performed. The common way to relieve such bouts of pain according to his doctor was to have the thing removed, gallbladder and all. His research into the matter ensued. The procedure seemed harmless enough—a few incisions would be made into the abdomen, a tiny camera and precision tools would be inserted, the thing would be snipped and extracted and the wounds stitched. End of problem. After a day or two he could resume his daily business, there would be nothing to stop him. His doctor told him that, after all, the gallbladder was not needed anyway since its sole function was to store bile, which did not need to be stored apparently as it could simply flow into the liver after being formed. Even if by some miracle the stone could pass out of his system there was no guarantee that new ones would not manifest later on down the line.
Nevertheless, he didn’t want to have any unnecessary operations performed on him. The last thing he wanted was for someone to poke things inside him, to twist and prod metallic objects into his guts. One false move and a huge set of problems could ensue he thought, with even larger incisions and more prodding to reverse any damage that was inadvertently done. He didn’t need that calamity to fall upon him, so it was better to avoid the whole surgery business altogether, he thought.
Sonny searched for information about the causes of gallstones, how they were formed, and the best ways to be rid of them. Several Web sites discussed procedures known as “flushes” whereby several glasses of Epsom salts dissolved in water would be ingested followed by a mixture of a half-cup each of lemon or grapefruit juice and, specifically, cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil. Ordinary olive oil would not do, the procedure adamantly called for the extra virgin stuff, which to him insinuated that the olives had not been involved in sexual encounters before they were pulverized to have their essential oils released from them. The first glass of salty water had a strange metallic-like taste, but it went down just fine when the water was first chilled. After he drank the second glass a couple of hours later as the flushing steps stipulated he was compelled to visit the toilet in ten to fifteen minute intervals, as anything which had resided in his entrails was purged forcefully, even at times violently he deduced based on the explosions of matter filling the bowl. Just after he drank the lemony oil concoction he was required to go immediately to bed and lay on his right side for the entire evening, if possible. It was plausible that he would hear the stone moving through the ducts and into the small intestine according to the literature he read. There were gurgling sounds coming from his guts but they were nothing out of the ordinary. In the morning he drank another glass of the salt water and proceeded to the toilet ever so often. He even placed a strainer in the bowl in an effort to catch the stone should it be expelled from his system. But the flush didn’t work. He repeated the procedure a few weeks later yet still there were no signs that the stone had passed. Another bout of pain proved that to be the case. Then he realized that the flush concept was completely absurd and abandoned it altogether. If anything it was extremely effective for resolving constipation and nothing more.
At first the pains occurred every few months, then they gradually became more frequent, once every three to four weeks. After some time the pains started coming each week. It always started at night, and it usually didn’t matter what he had eaten that day, whether a hearty, high-fat meal of barbequed pork chops and grilled thickly sliced potatoes separated on the skewer by pork fat or a salad chock full of romaine lettuce and tomatoes laced with a balsamic vinaigrette. He would at once feel uncomfortable, as if he had eaten too much food with the stomach on the verge of bursting. Then he would feel a sharp pain in his lower back and right side, as if someone was jabbing him with a blunt object. He imagined that the feeling was close to that endured by a victim of stabbing. It was impossible to lie or sit in a comfortable position. Soon thereafter his guts would feel as though they had been tied into double-knots with great pressure building up. Even his abdomen protruded out more than it usually did, as his stomach region was always protected by a layer of fat, the thickness of which would vary depending on the season and even his emotional state. When he panicked about life situations he ate less and thus lost weight, but when things were more rosy he relished the food he consumed and would tend to put on a few pounds. Naturally he began to yearn for something to induce instant relief—or else after a few minutes at least so that he could sleep properly and not go to work haggard and partially asleep the following morning. He tried taking ibuprofen to alleviate the pain but it did not always help matters, and even when things seemed to normalize after a half-hour or so he could never tell if the relief was attributed to the pills or else the pain just abruptly stopped as would always be the case.
One day he roamed through a neighborhood he was not all that familiar with in a part of the city he rarely frequented and came across a pharmacy which claimed to offer alternative remedies for various ailments as advertised in the window. He ventured inside and found the place completely adorned in dark, stained wood. Some plants were placed in corners and on the window sills. A small woman with a round, Asian face greeted him–he could not gather if she was Chinese or from another far eastern country, but it mattered little to him.
“Good afternoon, good afternoon,” the woman cooed and smiled to him.
“Hello,” Sonny responded, bashfully. “How are you?”
“Oh I am fine, thank you. What can we do for you?” She appeared to be the only person in the place.
“Well, I was wondering… I don’t know if you can help as they say there isn’t much that can be done.”
“What is the problem then?” she asked. “Don’t be concerned about whether you think I can help, all that matters is that I should be able to. There are not many ailments for which I cannot give advice to alleviate. So go ahead and tell me what’s troubling you.”
“Well, apparently I have a stone, in my gallbladder. Once in a while it causes pain, especially at night when I am sleeping. And lately it’s become too much to take since I am losing too many hours of sleep. I don’t know how to make the pain go away when it starts.”
“The stones are always a problem,” the women verified. “Not everyone wants to undergo surgery to make the pain go away, and I guess you feel the same way about it otherwise you would not be here.”
“That’s right.”
“Did you try the salty water with the lemon juice and olive oil mixture?”
“Yes, twice. It didn’t work.”
“Of course not. Only fools think that it does.”
“Right, okay.” He smiled nervously. “So what do you suggest, anything?”
“You need Munshix. That is the only thing that can help your problem.”
“Munshix? What is that, some sort of narcotic?”
“We do not sell narcotics here over the counter, my fine sir. It is completely natural. Munshix will work, you can be sure of it.”
“Okay, sounds great. What do I do?”
Behind the counter she reached for a box on the top shelf of a case closed with sliding glass doors. One of them had cracked and was reinforced with wide translucent tape which was yellowing. The entire case was filled with boxes, envelopes, and plastic shopping bags which were unorganized, the leafy contents of some of them were falling out. The lids of some boxes were not affixed properly. There was strange plant dust on each shelf, mostly pale green and faded yellow in color. Sonny became suspicious and was thinking to run away at once, but his curiosity compelled him to see what she would offer him.
“Munshix,” she repeated. “This is the Munshix. It will help you. Not cure you, but help you.” She took some long, narrow dark green brittle leaves out of a pouch and inserted then into a small plastic sandwich bag.
“What do I do with this?” Sonny inquired, his face wearing a puzzled grimace.
“You make tea with it! Put these leaves into a tea pot, add some hot water, wait for it to brew about 3-5 minutes, then drink. It is better to drink it while it is still very warm, don’t let it cool. It tastes terrible when it is cold,” she frowned.
He paid her the nominal fee she requested and he departed the shop, making note of its location. Then he went straight home to put the Munshix leaves in a safe place.
Several weeks passed before the need came to ingest the mysterious herbs he had acquired. The woman had failed however to notify him that the Munshix tea if drunk too quickly could potentially induce nausea. There was no way of predicting when the attack could occur, and of course the fabulous whole roasted chicken adorned with fresh tarragon and garlic cloves he had eaten hours previously needless to say was not digested properly. The attack started just after 2:00 am, yet despite the bout of vomiting the tea regrettably induced the pain subsided within minutes. Sonny attributed the success at first to the adverse effects of the tea, believing that it perhaps was best to throw up whatever had been eaten at dinner time. Yet when he drank more tea a few nights later when another attack came, that time on an empty stomach, he was convinced that indeed the Munshix was working. The realization was an awakening for him, lofty ideas came to his mind that perhaps he could acquire the stuff in huge bulk quantities and market it under a different name, perhaps sell the concept to a pharmaceutical company and become a millionaire overnight. But eventually he concluded that it was best to keep the Munshix phenomenon quiet, as he realized that no amount of cash could secure good health free of incapacitating pain.
Sonny noticed that the pains became more frequent, sometimes as much as three times a week. It soon became obvious that his body had become accustomed to the Munshix, accepting it as it would a dangerously addictive narcotic. The longer the intervals he did without the stronger became the pain. Despite that he was not convinced he had been forming a habit, he ingested so much of the Munshix in such a short time span—less than a month—that he ran out before realizing what had become of him, nothing but a desperate Munshix addict.
One Saturday morning under acute distress after a sleepless night, he returned to the city block where the Asian woman’s store was located, but he could not find the place. He walked several blocks in both directions and on opposite sides of the street but the store was nowhere to be found. In place of where he believed the store existed was a coin-op Laundromat, which according to passers-by had been there for decades. Tears began to stream from his eyes the deeper into panic he submerged. He asked shopkeepers in the neighborhood if they had seen the woman or if they knew where she went but they had no idea what he was talking about. Strangers were approached along the sidewalks, and each of them cast upon him a blank stare then formed gaping half-smiles as he rambled on about the disappearance of a mysterious woman selling a natural near-instantaneous remedy for gallstone pain. He refused to return home, instead roaming every street throughout the neighborhood dozens of times, to no avail. He found a corner in which to rest, and he huddled there hugging his knees throughout the frigid nights that passed on without his realizing. One day merged into another, his appearance disheveling, his body odor intensifying. His beard grew nearly an inch long and his grimy bangs extended far past his eyes. The service for his discharged mobile phone had been disconnected due to a missed payment. He ate mediocre hot dogs from convenience stores which caused gas to build up in his intestines and defecated behind garbage dumpsters, then would wash up at a corner gasoline station until the proprietor one day announced that he was nothing but a generate, useless bum and began to refuse him inside. Several weeks had passed since he left his home, but the Munshix withdrawal compelled him to search on, to find the Asian woman who was waiting for him just around every corner on each neighborhood block, the same who would deliver solace and serenity with a few leaves from a miraculous plant, the only woman he believed, in a relentlessly whirling delusion which spun round his mind, who ever really loved him.
Copyright © Christian Garbis 2008
