Temporary? Insanity

Wednesday night was by far the most physically traumatic experience of my life. Yes, even factoring in the birth of my two little girls. At least during the labor process I had a vague understanding that it would, eventually, end. And that there would be a lovely wee babe to enjoy afterwards.

I had no such hope pulling my through on Wednesday night. I feel the need to record this, but you may not want to read it. I learned a few things though. It took some mulling over to realize what they were, but I plugged away at it while lying in bed yesterday. I didn’t want to have gone through all that without coming away with something positive.

Throwing up has never really been my thing. I mean, yes, I’ve experienced it a few times. Maybe half a dozen altogether. I’ve had the flu once or twice. There was that time my parents forced me to eat brussel sprouts. The combination of a meatball sub, a large chocolate milk, and a long car ride. I’ve never thrown up more than once at a time though. In the past, one trip to the loo was all it took to settle my queasy tummy.

Not so Wednesday night. It would…not…stop. I curled up on the bathroom floor, waiting for the next wave to come, alternately shivery or flushed, sweating or shaking. I wanted to hit my head against the bathroom wall so I could pass into blissful unconsciousness and leave the misery behind. I was so, so tired, but I could only sleep for seconds at a time before the roiling of my stomach woke me up again.

I finally dragged myself, pillow and blanket, and our largest salad bowl into the living room and attempted to sleep in the chair. Too hot. Much, much too hot. I slid down onto the blessed cool of the floor, lay there writhing and puking bile for hours. I remember rubbing my feet against each other frantically, trying to focus on that feeling instead of the one in my stomach. The clock chimed three. I think I slept for twenty minutes right about then.

The rest of the night passed in a blur. Neil got up with Emma a few times. Her wails didn’t wake me once though. Every time she cried I was already awake. I think I slept off and on, but I’m not sure. By seven I was too stiff and sore to lie on the floor anymore and climbed back into bed. Neil was snoring. Emma was watching cartoons. I vaguely remember him saying goodbye as he left for work. I changed diapers. Fed the girls. And spent the rest of the day in bed as they played happily around the house (what a blessing…what a blessing).

Today, I feel a little weary. Four pounds lighter. Determined to be healthy as well as skinny some day, a lovely perspective change, that. I woke up hungry this morning and instantly panicked at that tumbly feeling in my stomach, gradually relaxed as I recognized it for what it was. Thankfully brief as this illness was, I don’t think the memory of it will quickly leave me.

What purpose has this served? Why am I recording this? What do I want to remember?

1) Good health matters. A very great deal.
2) Many people suffer this and more on a daily basis. Cut out some of the self-pity Kim. You’ve got it pretty darn good in this life.
3) Emma makes a great doctor. Despite her penchant for shoving plastic doctor toys in your ear.
4) Getting sick is a great way to get caught up on the laundry. Thanks Neil!
5) Do what you can while you can. You never know when time you expected to have will be taken away from you. In other words…Get off the computer and get the dishes done!