we went to chow thai addison for a quick dinner before heading home.
i was sitting on the couch back home innocently finishing up my giant chocolate chip cookie and an episode of ER when i decided i felt a little funny. just a little. i put my feet on the table and scooted down into the couch. that wasn't good enough, but i was still optimistic i didn't feel that bad as i hopped into bed and clicked on channel five thinking i'd still catch the last 15 minutes.
but then... whoa. something really wasn't right.
i propped my ass up on the commode and poo'd the biggest pile of poo i ever did saw. "wow! surely that did the trick," i thought. and then i poo'd some more. not long after, i found myself quickly flipping around to place my other hole over the commode and found curdled bits of dinner issuing forth alarmingly. "pad kee mow! why hast thou forsaken me!" i was being wrung from the middle out. it was as if a line had been drawn in the sand across my belly and an evacuation plan issued declaring all inhabitants must drop what they're doing and form a single line to make their way quickly to the nearest exit. and exit they did.
it was gastrointestinal distress at its best.
i gained enough strength after the first dual deluge to grab two towels, fashioning one into a shield against the kitty litter floor (which had thankfully been recently cleaned in order to test the new hoover floormate (on the remnants of ttyki's last stomach disaster) which was later returned because it could've done better) and the other into a ineffectual pillow. my kittens invaded the sick bed any chance they found it vacant and oskar invaded my glass of water like some thief in the night robbing the near dead of their dearest possessions despite it being literally under my nose. ttyki hovered over my head on the counter with a halo of bathroom light eking through her head fur.
i was barely able to assuage brian's fears that i was dying and his belief that, perhaps, i should be taken to the ER (oh, the irony!) he had never seen me sick in a puking way and thusly had no experience with just how pitiful i am in those situations. i play possum. i try to keep the nausea guessing. i figure if it can't find me, it can't hurt me.
i tried to keep him from entering any time i was on the loo and i allowed him to touch my hair when i was curled up in a ball of moaning on the floor. i felt awful when i heard the baby screaming bloody murder hoping it wasn't a virus i had passed on to him. but no... he passed out cold after a bit.
i was foolish enough once to think i might be able to crawl into bed. then i poo'd and puked some more.
i later made the mistake of thinking i could lay on the pallet (now infested with cat hair and little bits of litter) on my right side only to feel even more pad kee mow tofu pouring its way back out. it wasn't even the dry heaves at this point... it was still actual hunks of food coming out even more violently than before! sweet baby jesus! and you know that whole business where you puke and the puking makes you sick to your stomach because it's so disgusting so you puke even more? there was alot of that going on.
after a very long two hours and plenty of lying on the hard floor on my left side and feeling like i was about to freeze to death, i felt i had given enough time for any subsequent possible upchuckings and finally crawled to bed. brian had to sleep in the middle. ha! that fool thought i was going to. what? did he want me to emergency vomit or poo on him? likely.
two more rounds and i'll be back to my fighting weight.