A few days ago, Alexander was complaining about his tummy hurting. Us being retarded parents just brushed it of. Of course it hit us at 1am two days ago when he woke up in a pile of his own vomit that he never really complains about anything. So we must take heart when he does. Over the next day, the poor guy threw up a few more times, and was feeling generally ill. His poop was liquid. And since neither of us were ill, we chalked it up to food poisoning of some sort. I couldn't have been more wrong.
At 1:30 this, morning i was awoken with a start. My head was spinning and my belly was grumbling. What was this? I slowly walked over to the bathroom and examined the toilet area. It could be a little bit more clean, i suppose. I should have cleaned it up last wee.... dizziness. I grab the edges of the seat and vomit. Again and again. There goes dinner. There goes lunch.. A minute later i sit back and think to myself, WHAT THE F#&@ was that? i wash up and proceed back to the couch. I lay down and think maybe it was just random. Yea. Random.
I fall back asleep, but not for long. About 20 minutes later i wake up and the same feeling of dizziness is coming over me. Son of a... i walk briskly towards the toilet and again find myself praying to the porcelain god. It's out. I got it all out. Two more heaves produce nothing.
As i sit back on the couch staring off into the distance like a deer that was almost hit by that speeding car. Sarah waltzes out to see what's going on. I look at her, and and with 100% confidence say, Alexander did not have food poisoning. I slowly lay down, and pull the covers up over me, closing my eyes, and knowing that this reprieve won't last for long. But at the moment i adore its sweet, sweet calmness.
Five more times this happens. Maybe even six. It's hard to keep track of them as you are deliriously tired while simultaneously fearing for your God given life. Each time it followed an identical pattern. And each time it was just as horrible as the last.
You get dizzy. You know what's coming. You make your way to the bathroom; something of a cross between a man on death row and a drunk leaving the last bar after closing time. The uncomfortably familiar place on the floor near the toilet makes your body shiver of what is to come. Your head is spinning like you've been on one of those redundant carnival rides one too many times. You start feeling worse. You stomach is in knots. And worse. After a few minutes of swaying back and forth, you glare into the placid water of the toilet bowl, awaiting the imminent showdown.
And you hurl. Over and over. Relentlessly, your body is trying to eject some malicious item in your bowels, but there's nothing there. In a twisted evolutionary blunder, the signals to your brain get somehow crossed, and your mind is telling your belly "it's time to go soldier! move out!" But you're not enlisted in the armed forces, and your stomach is as bare as Old Mother Hubbard's Cupboard.
They're called dry heaves. And if you're lucky enough to never have had one, it's like standing on deck while a grinning, toothless pirate fires a cannonball at you from ten feet away. The dull thud resounds across your body and you are helpless to do anything about it. So you just kneel there, taking your lickings, hoping, PRAYING this next one will be your last.
And then finally it is. You collapse back against the bathroom wall, panting. Your brow is damp, yout clothes are soaked. You feel like you've just run a 10K. Panting. Sweating. And then this miraculous wave of calm rolls over you like nothing you've ever encountered. The most tranquil experience washed you down starting from your head down the tips of the nails on your toes. You wait a few seconds and relish this most amazing feeling that man-made narcotics could never replicate in a thousand years. You stand up and wash yourself. Gargling to get the putrid taste of bile out of your mouth, you look in the mirror at your pale reflection. And honestly? You feel like a million bucks. That wasn't so bad after all.
Until the next one catches you like a driver in a stalled car on the railroad tracks; the soft, sweet sound of a train horn just around the bend...
Interspersed between these battles for your life, of course you have the regular bouts of diarrhea that as someone close to me likes to say: has to shitting through a keyhole at 50 feet. There is clearly something wrong with your system. If you drink water and or juice in-between, there's no help. If you don't drink anything, no help either. It's one of those things that simply has to run its course. It's sick and twisted course.
And i hope my 7-months pregnant lady doesn't have to endure the same.