Wanted: Dead or Alive
I think my stomach faked its own death and went on a cruise to Bermuda.
That’s what I think.
It teamed up with my gumption and my sense of internal temperature control.
Not to mention gravity. Lately it’s been like I’ve been on a ship at sea–going up and down (repeat ad nauseum).
Yes, that’s right. I’ve picked up the local stomach bug. When I say bug, I want you to think of something out of a Japanese horror flick.
Yeah, like that. That’s the idea. See that train there? Those are actually my intestines.
Let’s think back a day or so. I’m lying in bed, partially comatose, trying to remember why people eat food, when I heard a scratching at my window.
Could it be Death???
Ah ha. Quite possibly.
Every time I open my eyes, the room swirls around me, making me feel both like I’m at sea and in a tornado.
Great fun, that. *groans*
I started feeling yucky on Thursday, whatever that day was, 4 days before whatever today is.
And then my mom and I went to Walmart. I hadn’t been feeling spectacular that morning, but I ate breakfast!!! Food. There’s an idea.
And then we got to Walmart. Didn’t feel so hot. Didn’t want to give up though. I have a natural aversion to shopping, but this was a little ridiculous. How could I tell my mom (remember, I’m visiting home for a couple of weeks) that the lights were too bright??? Should I tell her that the room was spinning about 3 beats faster than my heart rate? I find what I’m looking for (capris) and then tell her I need to go sit down. You know, like before I throw up. I leave out the latter part of that statement. I just tell her that I don’t feel very good.
I go and sit, for what seems like a thousand brightly lit years, willing myself not to puke all over the nice looking 80 year old woman who shoots me a nervous glance and pulls her three year old great-granddaughter farther away from me.
I think to myself that perhaps I should just curl up in a ball on the bench. I think, nah, that will be only if I really feel awful. 30 minutes later I find myself curled up in a ball on a bench in Walmart. I think to myself that it’s only a matter of time before some nice lady who isn’t an undercover cop at all will come up to me and ask me to either leave or sit up. It’s just a matter of time.
Finally, mom is done. I tell her I feel bad. She says “uh-huh,” feeling that this is just my way of saying I don’t want to go shopping anymore today. I think she starts to get it when I tell her I don’t want to go to chick-fil-a or the library either. Those are two biggies for me. I must be sick to refuse those two things. Finally, after a short diversion on my mother’s part, we are home and I am lying on my bed, curled into a ball, sweating and freezing at the same time. I have just taken a short trip to the bathroom (plumbing working badly, but still moving in correct direction). My mother is pouring ginger ale down my throat. You know, ginger ale. The stuff has ginger in it. Plus it makes you burp, which according to my mother, is the end all be-all of states to be in when you’re sick.
Well, after a bit, I’m burping. To be sure. And throwing up. Ginger ale. Yup. Violent-like, mind you. I might mention one other thing — I don’t puke. Like ever. Unless I’m really sick. It’s not something I can fake. I wouldn’t make a very successful bulimic. Trust me.
That night, light becomes overwhelming (much like it is now) and I put a wet washcloth over my eyes to stop the influx of painful whitish-yellow rays all around me. I also have a splitting headache and my ears feel like they’re about to explode.
I am very weak. I can’t stand up and make myself a cup of tea. I can get up, get the tea bag out and then make it back to the couch, before throwing up. Lying down keeps me from throwing up (most of the time).
Do the words, “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” resonate much with anyone else?
That next morning (like 4:30 ish), I’m yarking up a lung once again. I can’t drink anything without getting nauseated. Anything.
But later that day, I am able to eat some chicken and rice soup. Very very thin chicken and rice soup, but still, it’s food . . . or it once was . . .
That evening I also manage to eat the crust of some toast. Tasty.
This morning, I made it to Sunday School at my church. I did it because otherwise, I wouldn’t see some of these folks for another 7 months, and at least 4 or more of them are 70 plus. I belong to a very diverse Sunday school class. I drank an entire bottle of water while I was there.
I had cinnamon toast for lunch. It stayed down.
Since then, I’ve had 3 more glasses of water (sans glass, of course). I’m on my fifth now. And I managed to keep a sandwich down (a BLP) – Bacon Lettuce and Pepper (bell pepper). I still can’t move, read, walk upright for longer than 2 minutes, or think, but I can type. And so far, the liquid is staying down.
But more importantly than that is that Death turned out to be nothing more than my mother planting some magnolias outside, in front of my window.
Well, there are worse things, of course.