So me, my lady, and my bebe met my parents there and had dinner. Everything was peachy. Later on during the evening, i come to find out that my sister, her husband, and both kids had been sick earlier in the week, and was worried that we'd catch it. Her oldest daughter had a really bad stomach flu, and the rest of them had caught it. Oh, i though. Well, now a little bit worried, if it's a threat, should we be here at dinner? "Oh, NO problem. It's not that bad at all. We're all totally over it," she says. Wait. If you're totally over it, and it's 'not that bad,' then why can't we stay over? "Because i don't want you to get sick."
We grabbed our things and left.
The next morning, my pops, my lady and i all had headaches. I didn't say anything at first, as i thought it might have been the extra two glasses of wine i had. But alas, the three of us took some Advils, and we were on our way. No problems at all.
Later that night, around 8 pm, i had a weird feeling in my stomach, right near the bottom. I had been running around all weekend, and just attributed it to the random party food that i had been consuming. I had a cup of tea, and figured i'd hit the hay a bit early. Near 11 pm, that weird feeling moved down into my small intestines, and i began getting hot. Then all hell broke loose. My mouth started watering, that drippy, watery feeling that tells you what's about to come next. And it came with a vengeance. I vomited up a massive amount of food & liquid, all of which came up in this chunky red tomato soup color. I then did it again. And again. All over everything. It was gushing out of me with the speed of a chinchilla at a fur coat convention.
I laid back down in bed, physically exhausted from the endeavor. I was sweating from every pore, and my shirt reeked of vomit. I took a few sips of water, changed shirts and went back to sleep, relaxed in the loving calm that follows the storm.
Until thirty minutes later. I wake up, with a headache. A mean one. One of those 'yea buddy, you've got a fever' headaches. One that keeps pounding and pounding. I focus on my stomach. It doesn't seem too bad. But then again, it's not in charge. My head draws my attention right back to it. I crawl back to the bathroom, on my knees again, saying my prayers to the porcelain god. Out comes the rest of the day's meals.
I barely get myself back into bed. My head is still pounding. Sarah puts a trashcan by my bedside, just in case, and leaves me to my misery on the bed. I thank her, sarcastically of course, (as after those last two award winning performances, what could i have left in me?) and fall asleep. But only for a short time. Two more times, i am awoken my the urge to purge. The only problem is, there's nothing in my stomach.
The word of the day is dry heave. It's similar to the feeling i got in Poland a good 10 years back, after polishing off an entire bottle of Zybrowka vodka by myself. I love the stuff, but it doesn't love you back.
Your eyes bulge and you squeeze with all your might to get everything out of your system, but there's just nothing left. Not even a drop. One more ounce of squeezing and your eyes might literally fall right out into the toilet bowl.
The next one to vomit was Sarah, as death became her, too. Even though i had a four hour head start, she made sure to give me a run for my money.
This was going to be a long night.
I'll save you the suspense. I vomited away, well into the night. Puke, puke, puke. All told, i threw up nine separate times. NINE, each one worse than the one before, as my stomach was emptier, and the dry heaves were worse, as if my body was literally trying to rid itself of a non-existent appendix. I tried to drink or eat some stuff here and there, but it was all for naught. It didn't help that mixed in thought out all the fun, and definitely late to the party, was #3. Oh yes. I'm talking about diarrhea. That jem led to me sitting on the toilet, with my head buried in a trash can, and nastiness coming out of both ends at the same exact time. And after each trial, my body welcomed the oh so sweet sweat, glistening across my skin as a wonderful sign of a guaranteed few moments of peace. I finally fell asleep around 7am on Monday morning.
The following day was filled with a feverish headache, and a fear that eating anything more substantial than one cracker an hour would send the death squad knocking on the door of my belly. Dealing with a crying infant while both parents are hula-hooping through hell was a chore to be reckoned with. But at least the baby didn't get sick, so that's good, yea?
No. He joined the party 48 hours later, and we found him in his pack&play on Wednesday morning wet, and smelling of vomit. That's really where i draw the line. Not to mention that i come to find out that BOTH of my parents suffered near identical body trauma. My mom hasn't taken a sick day in 8 years, and had to take three in a row. As for my dad, what more could he ask for on his BIRTHDAY?!
In conclusion, I have NEVER IN MY LIFE BEEN THIS SICK before. The absolute pain and terror pulsing throughout every cell of my body is something, unfortunately, i won't soon forget.
So this is a shout out to my wonderful sister, for her constant thoughts and concerns for the well being of others. 5 for 5.
You're the best, sis.
And don't worry. I'll do my best to 'get over it.'