I’m really bad at being sick. I spent most of yesterday curled up in the fetal position, moaning and thrashing as my stomach turned upside down and emptied itself a few times and the muscles in my legs and back tightened into sleep-defying cramps. I crawled into bed at 7:00 p.m. last night and could barely roll over without launching my stomach into fits of yuck. It was at least 11:00 p.m. before I feel asleep, and I woke several times before finally giving up at 7:00 a.m. All I had to eat yesterday was breakfast. The three sips of pop I tried wouldn’t stay down, though the quarter of a saltine I managed just before 11:00 seemed OK.
Most of the night my mind kept wandering into bizarre rationales for the pain I was feeling, a mix between dreaming and some kind of stream of consciousness rambling. My favorite rationale was that it was some kind of bad magic, thanks to having finished season six of Buffy earlier that day. Another rationale had something to do with opened and closed systems. It made incredible sense at the time, but now it seems like weird hallucinations.
Thankfully I’m feeling better this morning. I can not only roll over in bed, but can also wonder the house without doubling over. A piece of slightly buttered toast, a few saltines and a shot glass of Sprite were a poor excuse for breakfast time. I’m starving, but afraid to try much more.
The freaky part is that it’s all strangely reminiscent of the banana-induced stomach suck I experienced a while back. Though I haven’t eaten any bananas since.
If I ever have some serious medical condition or have to go to the hospital or endure any kind of health related yuck, I’m going to be terrible. I think I have a very low tolerance for pain. I made my poor wife do the most meaningless of tasks last night, like transfer my Sprite from an ordinary cup to a water bottle so I could drink it without sitting up. I can’t imagine she got any sleep last night, with all my thrashing and rolling.
The dog seems to have an innate sense of sympathy when it comes to pain. When he realized I wouldn’t lift him up on to the bed he curled up on the blankets on the floor. While in the bathroom heaving, Speak would hear me from downstairs and come running, though his excited licking wasn’t exactly what I wanted.
One thought on “Fits of Yuck”
Man, that totally sucks. I hope you feel better soon! I don’t mean to freak you out, but do you think that your repeated yuck could be an indication of something less obvious going on?