Another week, another hospitalization.  It had been a somewhat bumpy week after my discharge from the hospital mid-month, and after struggling with what felt like a partial obstruction this past Monday night, I woke severely nauseous on Tuesday morning, and was in the car driving myself back to the ER by 10am that morning while my husband was at work.  It says something that I felt comfortable enough to do this, as a hospital is supposed to be a place of respite and recovery.  Vomiting twice on the 15 minute trip over, I shuffled back into the ER, grateful that I would soon be relieved of my horrible abdominal pain and nausea by the staff there.  So as not to worry my husband, I waited until I was hooked up to IV fluids and had received some anti-nausea meds and happy juice before I called him to let him know I was back in and doing just marvelous.  Everything is marvelous on morphine.  I told him I was fine on my own for a while …