Posts Tagged ‘vomit’

Strange Little Day

December 29, 2017

I called in sick today.

Which is very, very, very rare for me.

However.

I was really, really, really sick.

I had begun to feel sick last night, in retrospect, I was coming down with a pretty bad headache, bad enough that I didn’t write my blog last night when I got back from my evening commitment.

Pretty unusual for me and when I think about it, pretty indicative of how bad I was feeling.

I don’t always let myself be sick.

Not like I really have a choice, but my brain seems to think that it does, that it can choose whether or not I’ll react to the illness.

Last night I made myself a cup of tea and a little snack and even while I was enjoying it I was not enjoying myself at all.

My head fucking hurt.

And.

I couldn’t take any ibuprofen.

Not since getting the diagnosis of silent reflux from my doctor and when we had gone through all the things I didn’t eat and she couldn’t figure out why the hell I had all the symptoms but wasn’t eating any of the foods that would cause it, she hit on it, almost by accident.

“Ibuprofen?”

Oh yeah.

I take a lot of that.

And pretty much I’m causing my stomach to bleed out, I’ve been ulcerating it causing the reflux, causing all the off again on again pain, which, yes, was probably also exacerbated by the stress of this past semester.

It was a touch stressful, yes, it fucking was.

Anyway.

I have a headache.

It’s rotten bad.

And.

I can’t take the only pain-killer I have in the house, ibuprofen.

I can take it and maybe alleviate my headache, but it will blow my stomach out of whack.

So I make the decision to just go to bed and try to sleep it off.

Like a fucking hangover, which, for the record, it’s been a long fucking time since I’ve had one of those, but that’s what it felt like I was doing, trying to sleep it off.

I was in bed by 10:15 p.m. and had the alarm set for 6:30 a.m.

I woke up once around 3 a.m. to use the loo and the headache was still there and pretty awful.

I stumbled back into bed and prayed that when I woke up it would be gone.

It was not gone.

I got up anyway and got myself into the shower.

My head still hurt and my stomach felt horrid.

I dried my hair and started to get dressed.

It took a long time.

It really took too long a time.

I knelt down by my bed and started my morning readings and prayers and I started to get sweaty, like awful, cold sweat, I got super hot, broke out into a sweat and could barely say my prayers.

I finished, got up, felt woozy, sat down on my chaise and thought, fuck, maybe I should call into work.

No.

I can’t do that.

I have the next four days off and the family needs me.

I got myself up went to the bathroom and checked my face out in the mirror, fuck, I was shining with sweat and now I was chilled.

Eek.

I wiped my face, washed my face, and took a big deep breath, just go make your breakfast and you’ll be fine once you get some coffee in yourself.

I started to make breakfast.

I couldn’t fathom how I was going to eat.

The smell of the coffee wasn’t good, the apple I was cutting up to put in my oatmeal nauseating, I started to get sweaty again.

I couldn’t eat.

I was not going to be able to eat anything.

How the fuck was I going to go into work without eating breakfast?

I turned back to the stove, I poured some almond milk in a heating canister and the smell was way too much.

I turned off all the burners, walked away, left the bowl of cut up apples on the counter, the milk in the can, the percolator on the stove, an egg in a pan of water and I picked up my phone.

I stared at it.

I have to call in.

I can’t go in.

I called.

I lost the signal.

I called again.

Same thing.

I tried one more time.

Got through.

Told my employer I was super sorry, don’t know what was going on, food poisoning, stomach bug, then I started to cry.

I don’t cry.

Ok.

Sure.

I cry if you know me, if you don’t know me, you’re my boss or someone I engage with professionally, I’m not going to cry in front of you (doesn’t mean I won’t cry in the bathroom at work, but that’s different), and I started to cry, which is the ultimate sign to me, I was really sick.

My boss was sweet told me to get some rest and I got off the phone, took off my clothes and crawled right back into bed.

About ten minutes, maybe fifteen minutes of being in bed I sat up with a bolt, I’m going to actually throw up.

No, no, I’m not, I haven’t thrown up in years.

But I wobbled quickly to the bathroom.

And.

Holy shit.

I threw the fuck up.

I barely had time to drop to my knees and pull my hair out of my face.

My super pretty hair, I was having a great hair day, all for naught, the nice hair.

I vomited three times in succession and then got up, rinsed out my mouth, flushed the toilet and tottered back to bed.

I considered grabbing a bowl just in case to put by the bed, but I fell asleep too quickly to do anything about it.

I recall, in a dreamy sort of way, responding to a few text messages that came in during the morning, but most of what I did was drift in and out of sleep for the next five hours.

I got up a little after 1 p.m.

I drank a little water, my head still hurt, but I didn’t feel nauseous.

I made some of my breakfast that I had left on the stove hours earlier.

I was able to eat about half of it.

I talked with my best friend on the phone for a bit and by the time I was done with the conversation I felt better.

Well enough to finish the other half of the oatmeal and drink some coffee.

The headache went away about an hour later and the stomach totally settled.

I have no idea if it was food poisoning or if I was just suffering a migraine.

I don’t remember having an aura, which I typically do before a migraine, and I haven’t had a migraine in such a long time that I wasn’t sure if it was that or just a bad headache.

Either way.

It’s gone.

And.

I spent the entire day at home.

I rested.

I watched Blade Runner 2049 and chilled out.

I feel a lot better.

Good enough that I signed up for a yoga class in the morning.

I will take it easy, but I feel like I’m back to myself.

Sometimes a girl just has to take a sick day.

Grateful as fuck that I didn’t push myself to go into work, I would have probably thrown up in my new car.

No thank you.

I’ve got a super nice day off planned for tomorrow.

I am über grateful that I feel better.

Like over the moon.

Night friend.

See you on the flip.

Sweetest dreams ever.

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Today Was A Shit Show

January 27, 2015

Actually.

It was a vomitorium.

The oldest boy puking, everywhere.

Just after baths.

Fifteen minutes before I am leaving.

Just after getting home from swimming lessons, a raucous dinner, a crazy younger brother who did not nap and construction on both sides of the house all day.

Plus the housecleaner was there today.

And I made a double batch of the family’s favorite dinner.

Oof.

It was a day.

Not a bad day, either.

Just busy.

Sometimes things happen and it’s not good or bad, it’s just what it is.

Oh and a trip to the market and a trip to the coffee shop and the park.

I mean.

It makes the day go fast.

And I do like being needed.

Although at one point, I think it was when the youngest blew a raspberry at the dinner he normally eats ravenously, “I LOVE IT” is his usual response to said meal, and dumped the entire plate on the floor that I thought.

That’s it.

I’m done.

But the vomiting was still to come.

I was not done yet.

I am glad the day is done and I had a good bike ride through the Wiggle and up into the park and over to 7th and Irving to catch up with friends and fellows and get out of myself for a little while.

Be of service and such.

“You’re single!”  My friend said, after I gave him a big hug.

I missed him last week, but it was Noir City and The Thin Man at the Castro was playing.

We caught up and it was good to acknowledge, that yes, it is true, I am indeed single.

And it feels like it again.

I’m close to saying I’m ready to date, I’m definitely entertaining the thought, although there is no one in mind, it’s just there.

I have no desire, however, to re-open my OkCupid account or to actually activate the Tinder account I had downloaded.

I am going to try it the old-fashioned way.

Let someone ask me out.

I’ll give that a couple of months and if it doesn’t appear to be happening I will actively start asking guys out again.

At the moment I feel that I have to be approached.

I am worth the ask.

“What are you doing this summer?” The mom casually, not really, asked as we headed to the school to pick up the oldest boy for swimming lessons.

Working as much as possible I thought, getting ready for graduate school, hopefully not having to look for another job.

It turns out that I was being felt out about the summer vacation plans for Sonoma.

Oh.

The house in Sonoma.

Pool.

13 acres.

Woods.

Creek.

Llama farm next door.

Llama farm.

Really.

Some where around Glen Ellen, about an hour outside of the city.

The family has taken a month before, but it sounds like they are planning on taking 10 days in June and 10 days in August.

They haven’t gotten the dates set up, they are finding out about the availability of the house.

Did I say pool?

“We would rent you a car so you could come up and go down for the weekend.” The mom explained.

I would work there, staying over night, I believe, I need to check my contract, but I believe I get an extra $50 per day for doing any over night travelling with them.

I would have my own room and bathroom and all my food would be taken care of.

It sounds scary and awesome all at the same time.

I also reiterated with the mom that I wanted to stay with them as long as they wanted and they do want, even when both the boys are in school, I feel that there will be plenty of work that can be done at the house.

Especially since I do so much of the marketing and cooking and general snack and food prep.

“What are you doing when he goes to pre-school,” the savvy pregnant mom at the park asked me.

“I’m heading to graduate school,” I told her, “though the likelihood is that I will be staying on and helping the family part-time.”

“Well, I am at the same school,” the mom said, “my oldest daughter is in the same grade as ________, just in the other preschool class.”

Oh.

Nice.

I like that.

“And I plan on contacting them, because should they not need you, I will.”  She smiled.

That was good to hear.

I’m not going to mention what school that is, but suffice to say, it’s not a public school.

It is good information to have and I know that I certainly have the references to continue working in whatever capacity I will be working in for the fall.

I suspect, again, though, that I will be staying with the current family.

Through the good times and the bad, vomit.

Because I like them and their dog, who always gives me kisses and wishes me a happy hello Monday when I come back from the weekend.

And the snuggle pie boys who yes, are boys and poop and pee and vomit and throw food and splash water out of the bathtub, and fart.

Oh.

My.

God.

The oldest today, after swimming class, was in the car seat and had taken off all shoes, socks, and tossed his whole back pack from school on the floor of the car with all the lunch fixings and containers tumbled about and while I was gathering it all up and grabbing his feisty feet to put them back in their socks, he farted to kill a cow.

I mean.

Holy Jesus on a flaming pogo stick.

It was like sticking my head in a fart oven.

He laughed so loud that he almost peed his pants.

He was the one who threw up all over tonight too.

I am laughing at this all now.

Although at the time I was almost over it.

Poor bunny, coughed so hard it triggered a gag reflex which brought up some phlegm, which grossed him out and then he hurled everywhere.

Everywhere.

Ugh.

I hollered out to the parents, one vomit covered boy, fresh from the bath, so at least he was only in the clean underpants I had just put on him, plus his younger, completely naked brother, who was running around playing 3, 2, 1 blast off with his Meow Meow (his stuffed kitty cat, who he informed me did NOT speak Spanish, when I greeted him with “hola gato.” “No hola!” He trumpeted at me.  “Bonjour mon chat,” I replied. “NO bongor!” he hollered kicking his feet out.  “Well, what language does Meow Meow speak?” I asked.  “Cat,” he said and if a two-year old could roll his eyes, he might have done so.  I mean, duh, nanny, get with the program.) running through the vomit barefoot, to come up and help.

Please dear God, help me now.

Thank goodness for extra hands when you need them.

I left soon after, the dad helping by cleaning up the various piles of puke.

The mom lining up a Pengu video.

I got the oldest one juice with a little bubbly water and some saltine crackers and wrapped up my day.

It was one hell of a day.

But I made it through and I am grateful for my job.

Even when the shit.

Er, vomit.

Hits the fan.

It cleans up fast.

 


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