Today, we have no photos...please feel free to use your imaginations.
Picture the scene:
Monday night, and Mommy feels a bit gassy at work. This is not an unusual thing--Mommy lives gassy--so she takes some medication and the feeling passes. She attributes it to having an"extra-active" evacuatory pattern earlier.
Tuesday. Mommy gets up, goes to yoga and has a great practice. She comes home, eats lunch, and does stuff around the house the rest of the day.
Tuesday evening, and Mommy eats dinner. She's not too hungry, so she doesn't eat much; a small BBQ pork sandwich, some baked beans and cole slaw.
Nine PM: Mommy is feeling distinctly queasy
Nine-thirty: Truly awful
Ten-fifteen: Mount Vesuvius erupts.
Ten-forty: Mount St. Helens blows.
Eleven Thirty: Krakatoa.
At midnight Daddy gets up to go pee and finds Mommy crouched on the bathroom rug, doing the World's Best impression of Linda Blair in The Exorcist, only with BBQ and beans instead of pea soup...and he called 911. The paramedics were there in less than five minutes, got Mommy cleaned up enough to transport, (she was mortified) and hauled her off to the emergency room. She vaguely remembers that she didn't rate getting a siren and being moderately pissed...
Anyway, Daddy was a hero--he tidied the bathroom in record time and hightailed it to the ER--so by the time the nurses at the hospital got Mommy changed into a gown and hooked up to monitors and IVs and gave her shots and stole her bloods (and poop!) (and vomits!) she was coherent enough to know who he was and say (weakly) "thanks".
The next few hours involved two bags of fluids, several anti-nausea shots, pepcid, and the highly entertaining antics of the other ER patients; most notably the guy who shot part of his foot off and the pill-shopper who mysteriously knew exactly how much fentanyl and dilaudid she needed to kill the pain.
Turns out it was just "something there's a lot of going around", how's that for a diagnosis? Mommy's digestive system is her Achille's heel and this isn't the first time this has happened, the only new wrinkle was the ambulance ride--and that's because Daddy wisely decided that transporting an erupting puke-cano was better left to the experts...really, Mommy is 52 and it could have been a heart attack, you never know.
But back to our time line:
Wednesday Three-forty AM: Mommy and Daddy arrive back home after a GatorAde pit stop, which is slowly consumed over the next sixteen hours.
Wednesday Six PM: Mommy wakes up, eats a little soup and two saltines, and goes back to bed.
Thursday Eight AM: ♫♪♫*Heavenly Choir*♫♪♫ Mommy is awake, coherent, and hungry!
Welcome back, Mommy.
We enjoyed sleeping on you for the past 24 hours, but our ears aren't gonna scratch themselves...hop to it!
Friends, this is the worst bout of food poisoning I've ever experienced, and I've been "blessed" with five trips to urgent care due to uncontrollable emesis, so I know. Scott never got ill and I bring food from home to work so I must have picked it up via some stupid slob's poor hygiene--jerk--I'm a little OCD about washing up but obviously I forgot one critical time. Let me remind you all: wash your hands everywhere and often, and when in doubt, call 911. Oh, and one last thing, BBQ and beans taste terrible. And I did NOT accidentally re-chew the cole slaw. Because that would be just gross.
I'm taking Friday (today) off from work (and yoga) for R&R--however I will have a fun Catio video to post so the Kats will return on Saturday!
Happy to be Alive Friday!
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