Bad Cheesecake

About 5 days ago we had a drug rep come to the office, and they brought along some food for us. Damn nice of them! We had calzones, pasta, canolis, and cheesecake. Needless to say, there were plenty of leftovers (we're hungry pigs in rehab, but not THAT hungry). In particular, there was leftover cheesecake. Everyone was so stuffed from eating everything else that there was no room left for desert. Fine, stick it in the frige for another day. And another day. And another day. And another day. And another day. And another day. And another day until the day I came down from the Neurology office, canvassing the office for some food. Aha! I know, there's leftover cheesecake. Let me have some of that! It's still good; after all, Wayne had some just yesterday and he's at work today so it still must be good. So I had
1 1/2 pieces of 5-day-old cheesecake. Not a very bright idea being that 1) I'm lactose intolerant and shouldn't be eating CHEESEcake, and 2) eating anything that's 5 days old is just plain dumb.

Fine. Fast forward about 4 hours. Well, you can imagine what happened. I kept hearing that song I learned on my surgery rotation in med school:

"When you're sliding into first
And your pants begin to burst
That's diarrhea, diarrhea

When you're sliding into two
And your pants are filled with goo
That's diarrhea, diarrhea

When you're sliding into third
And you feel a greasy turd
That's diarrhea, diarrhea

When you're sliding into home
And your pants are filled with foam
That's diarrhea, diarrhea."

But that wasn't bad enough. The nurses kept paging me while all this was going on, too!