November 15, 2005

Am I Sick?

Three of my family members had some kind of heinous stomach flu in the last week, and yesterday my father came down with it. My little sister and I were supposed to see Capote on Saturday, but she had me turn around halfway there so she could go home and throw up, but we only made it as far as my house before she actually did. So I spent all of Saturday and half of Sunday taking care of her, since she was too sick for me to take her home. Not that it would have helped, as my mother and sister were literally throwing up on the hour there, too. Having spent the bulk of the weekend rubbing her stomach and coaching her breathing as she was bent in half over a pillow, I can definitively state that I do not want what she had. I know it only lasts a day, but that’s 24 hours of incessant stomach pains, which I really hate. And missing work, which I also hate. I’m not nauseated yet (my nausea test: “Cheeseburger? Yeah, that still sounds pretty good, so no, I’m ok.” You’ll know when you’re really ill, because you can barely think ‘cheeseburger’ before you’re running for the toidy), but my stomach has been acting weird lately; it thinks I’m full. All the time. It’s great for my diet, but I’m starting to forget that I need to eat. Also, I haven’t eaten anything but packaged foods for a few days, because my mother thought the mysterious illness was actually food poisoning, and that was enough to make me paranoid and eschew any sort of prepared meal. For the last week, I was Howard Hughes, minus the milk. I have to eat some kind of nutrition today, so I think I will make chicken for dinner and burn the shit out of it, so I don’t have to fear the bacteria.

Ugh. I don’t want to be sick again.

I was just sick in September. I had to take an entire week off of work, and then beg people to cover the weekend at Starbucks because I still couldn’t stand upright. It’s not so much the illness, but the waiting around—writhing on the bathroom floor with a stomach alien wishing to God that you could just throw up already so the pain would go away. I’m impatient; that’s another reason I hate being sick. Although, if I have to get this thing, I would rather it be now. Whenever I’m dreading something, I just want to get it over with, so I don’t have to spend time worrying about it. I thought for sure that sleeping next to my sister would get me throwing up the next day, so I was shocked when I felt fine on Sunday. I was all happy that I had given this one a miss, until my mother drops the bomb that it takes a few days for the virus to gestate. Yeah: gestate. That’s exactly what I want to hear; I have something evil growing in my innards, and when it’s fully grown, I’ll have to eject it forcefully from intestines via any orifice not sufficiently plugged. I think I’d rather have something surgically removed. Nature is disgusting sometimes. For all the butterflies and sunsets, there is an equal amount of searing physical pain and explosive bodily functions. Just as colorful, not as pretty.

So now I have to go home, cook (burn) dinner, make the cornbread I promised I would for our potluck tomorrow, and hope I avoid the Big One long enough to attend and enjoy the food. Just in case, though, I will put a bunch of books in the bathroom, clean off my nightstand, empty all the trash and clean the toilet bowl in preparation of imminent alien invasion. If I do get sick, there will probably be no post tomorrow. I can’t afford to barf on my laptop. Although, an illness would provide me with a fabulous excuse to sleep for the fourteen hours I need to make up. We’ll see where I stand on the gestation (shiver) scale tomorrow. In any case, wear your hazmat gear; every day I’m not symptomatic I feel like the Typhoid Beedoo of this thing.

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