I just checked, and it would appear that five hundred and two of you Live Journal users have “friended” me. Cool! It seems like just last week I was happy to announce 400.
In other news, the last 10 hours have been awful. I hate, hate, HATE stomach flu.
So… on to the TMI…
By 11:00am today I knew I was sick. The diarrhea was my first clue. Then, by noon, I could tell that I was going to have to throw up.
(note: I TOLD you there was TMI behind the cut. If you’re reading this, and think it’s too much, well… don’t say I didn’t warn you. And yes, it gets worse before it gets better.)
For the record, I’m terrified of throwing up. I’m a control freak, and vomiting is one of those biological experiences in which there is no control. It also hurts, and makes a mess.
Well, around 1:30 I finally hurled. It was loud, and Patches (my 2-year-old) was walking right up to the open bathroom door when it happened. He ran away, terrified, thinking I was yelling at him so loud that my guts were coming out.
I almost suffered my worst nightmare… vomiting, while diarrhea-ing simultaneously. When it was all over, I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. I felt like the “saw the lady in half” lady, only in the hands of a sadistic charlatan prestidigitator… complete with the sensation of separate saw-teeth tearing my innards apart.
The only bright spot in all this was Sandra. She was there with me for the worst of it, holding me, talking to me, and promising that seeing me green and gross would have no bearing on how much she loves me. She rounded up Patches and explained that Daddy was not angry (well, not at Patches, anyway). She disinfected the bathroom after each time I used it. She tucked me in, and brought me heating pads, blankets, and all the rest of the stuff I needed in order to hurt just a little less.
I love this woman a LOT. You love those whom you serve, and we’ve been serving each other through thick and thin (the diarrhea qualified as “thin”, oh yes oh yes) for 12 years now.
I spent roughly 10 hours in a bed in a back bedroom at my in-laws’ house. I’m keeping fluids down now, but I still feel like I was hit by a truck.
So… I’m going to have to cancel the various Livermore-area schlocker activities tomorrow. While it’s POSSIBLE I’ll be well enough to play, and POSSIBLE that I won’t be contagious, I’m not one for taking those kinds of chances.