The neat thing about being violently ill is writing is something you can still do, and if the computer is close enough to the bathroom all the better. I was supposed to go walk with Elbow first thing this morning, and there is something you have to know about the woman, despite all her saintly virtues, and she has far too many to list here, she does get carried away. She only lives two miles or so from me and on the way there I kept having the thought if I just got out and moved around I would feel better. My seasonal allergies have been a bitch lately and I didn’t feel real good yesterday, but exercise is a good thing nearly always, and it isn’t like this would be the Boston Marathon, right?
So I get to Elbow’s house and she immediately launches into telling me about something she’s written and she is terribly fired up about it, and happy, and normally I would be so into this, but at that very moment I was thinking, “Holy Mother Of Dog, I am going to puke all over this woman’s floor.” I didn’t but in the middle of Elbow’s exaltations, she did notice that it was not Saint Patrick’s Day and I was quite green. I kept telling myself I was going to be okay, and we moved the conversation closer to the bathroom, and I tried to choke down some pink stuff, but in the end, what went down came back up, and violently so.
I haven’t thrown up in ages, and I had forgotten how much fun is isn’t. Yet there isn’t anything at all a person can do about it but make small mental notes about the experience and later, have people be thankful those notes were burned as soon as I was feeling better. After the first bout with my tryout for “The Southern Exorcist: Reintarnation” I felt like I had ejected everything I needed to, and was even pondering the walk. The next wave put a bullet in any doubt I had, and away home I fled.
Back home, the other end of the digestive system kicked in, and again, you can thank me for the lack of graphical information as to its viscosity or force. Suffice it to say…nevermind, I have said for more than enough. There was one more episode where what when down came back up and one of the dogs, in horror or empathy, puked on the carpet, but that was the end, so far, of the exodus. I suspect deeply that it isn’t over yet, and I also suspect this is not a pathogen.
One of the tried and true methods of relief of seasonal allergies is garlic. I like garlic a lot and use it often. Yesterday all I had left was two ginormous pieces of a clove so I cooked one with breakfast and knew soon enough it was too much. Wasn’t cooked enough, I theorized, but I did cook the other piece this morning and evidently, that wasn’t enough. Without going into detail, and again, you may thank me for this, there is evidence I ate far too much garlic. I also took one of those twenty-four hour meds, and the combination of the two might have been enough to toss me over the edge. It’s nearly nine in Saturday night right now and so far I have eaten a banana at six, a can of fruit cocktail at seven, and a bagel at eight and everyone is still inside, and there is no rumbling. The herbal tea Elbow suggested was a great idea, and she has called to check on me three times. Despite being highly educated and well read, Elbow knows a lot of common sense things like what to eat when your digestive system is acting as if it is trying out for the US Olympic gymnastics team. It helps a lot to know someone who knows things. It’s not like I was going to go out and do shots of tequila or anything like that but the tea was very nice.
I never nap but here recently I have been dropping off to sleep at odd times and today I slept like the dead. It was not a good type sleep and I did not feel rested at all. I felt very hungry when I woke up and I still do. Even with what little food I have eaten I can still feel that my body is not over this thing yet. I don’t have any energy at all, and other than writing I’m not quite certain what else it is I can do. Still, I am not running a fever, which is great, and the explosions have stopped inside which is also good.
Epilogue: Sunday morning has arrived in all its glory and all is quiet inside. I have survived the internal explosions and the alien trying to tear its way out of my bowels. The mutts seem to be at peace in their world. Last night I dreamed I was running a fever, and sweating profusely. I got up take some aspirin when I noticed I wasn’t sweating ay all. Everything was cool and dry. This beats the hell out of dreaming I was electrocuted, but at the same time I wonder how much of our sickness is our minds investing in our current state? But I am also pretty sure my assessment that this was not a pathogen is now correct. Too much garlic, too much coffee, too many meds, and stress took over my body and drained it. No garlic this morning, little coffee so far, and no meds, and I feel nearly normal. There is still this feeling as if my bowels have run a marathon over rough terrain but at the same time it doesn’t feel like Mount Saint Helens is lurking right around the corner, waiting to erupt. I wonder if Elbow is up to a walk?