Friday, January 3, 2014

Sick as a.............

Dog? Where did the expression "sick as a dog" come from? Because I've seen my dog barf up an exact rendition of her dog food on the carpet, but I've never done that, even on my sickest days, so what gives? I did a Wikipedia search but it just gave me some gobblygook on some song with the same name.

Anyway. I've been sick.

And it's weird how one minute you're enjoying your grande decaf peppermint mocha from Starbucks and the next you're spending a lot of time getting intimate with your toilet.

And the progression to getting there - well, that's bad too. The overly-full feeling. The stomach cramps. The "I wish I could just throw up and get this over with" feeling that your body will not honor no matter how hard you try. Then, the violence that is a stomach virus.....I'll spare you the details. We all know it's horrific and traumatizing and you see the face of God more than once while you're promising that you'll never, ever eat food again and if you can only be spared one more episode of violence, you'll become a nun, spread world peace, donate half your money to charity...........

Ok, maybe that's just me. But the thing is, I HATE throwing up. Or whatever you choose to call it. My brother and I once made a list of all the euphemisms for vomiting (which sounds like the most "official" term but it's actually "emesis" and I know that because I'm a medical nerd, but whatever). Anyway, I used to say I'd sell my soul to the Devil not to throw up. Of course, that was before I really understood the true price of doing that (and, seriously, unless I'm getting a golden fiddle thrown in with the deal, forget it). Still, I didn't throw up - NOT ONCE - during all of my pregnancies and if I could avoid that, I should be able to avoid it forever, right?

Only, not.

So, after I was super sick I had to sleep for like twenty hours or something. And I kept waking up and I'd watch a little TV or read a little, or check my phone for interesting Facebook updates, and then I'd be surprised with the ease in which I'd fall back to sleep as though I hadn't just slept six straight hours. In the past 36 or so hours, I've had some Gatorade, a piece of toast, two graham crackers and a banana. And that's just fine with me. After your body revolts against food, you must court it again before you're ready for a fully-committed relationship. At this point, the thought of anything beyond the toast stage seems unreliable, but who are we kidding? There's bbq pork in the crock pot and I want it. I'm just scared to eat it.

Then, there's the inevitable questioning everything you've eaten the past day or so, and whether anyone else ate it, and if anyone else has any symptoms, etc. The last thing I ate before being sick was homemade chicken noodle soup. I'm certain everything in it was fresh and free from food-borne bacteria. But my husband threw it out. This is the man who retrieved cans of expired food out of the garbage when I tossed them, insisting they were "still good," the man who eats fish a week after preparing it, the man who just last week was about to use lunchmeat on a pizza he was making when I quickly swooped in and reminded him I could even REMEMBER the last time I bought lunchmeat so he better not take any chances (you're welcome, family, for saving you, once again, from food poisoning!). It only took one night of watching me spew Exorcist-style for him to toss that soup faster than you could say "botulism."

And the thing is, I'll never know what made me sick. Just like all the other times you or I have been sick - it's rare we ever find out the source (save for that one Bunco when someone brought seven layer dip and every single one of us got barfy from it). It just sucks. And makes you love food just a little bit less. (Is this a message, God?) My husband actually had the balls to say my sickness was a "sign" that I should eat better in the new year. He's missing now. Shhh.

The only good things to come of this illness were that I slept more than I have in the past three years, and I lost a few pounds. If you want to look at silver linings and all.

I actually have a theory. I realized that I got sick at this exact same time last year. Granted, last year's "sick" was more flu-like and lasted a few more days, but I almost always get sick around Christmas break. So, my theory is this - I'm bored. When I slow down my frantic pace and have a few days of nothing to do, I get sick. Cabin fever is REAL my friends. It's a legit illness that strikes during school breaks. And the only cure is to stay busy! No boredom! Boredom is deadly! Next year, I'm planning a trip between Christmas and New Year's to ward off any evil sickness that is lurking under the surface, ready to strike with the first sign of cabin fever.

But, just in case, I think I'll also avoid chicken noodle soup. You can never be too cautious.

1 comment:

jeff said...

Yep, sick as a dog. I have not seen her sicker and hope to not see it again:)