I knew I was screwed at 9:03 Friday evening. I calmly put down my food and waited. Around and hour later, the onslaught began. I was in full virus force. A virus, to me, feels like barbed wire in my stomach. There's no other way to describe it. Therefore, when it strikes, I know what I'm in for. Hell.
I am throwing up. I have diahrrea. I am spent. Done.
Or so I thought.
The food is all gone. There is NOTHING in my stomach, people. NOTHING. And yet I continue to vomit. It's an anomaly that pisses me the fuck off, quite frankly. So up comes the stomach acid. Yeah. For hours.
Which, by the way, felt lovely brushing up against my stomach ulcer.
I don't think I slept fifteen minutes Friday night into Saturday. The first time I got any rest at all was about five o'clock Saturday.
I was weak and exhausted. I'm quite sure I smelled lovely. I was scared to drink water, people. Water. Yeah.
And when I did, I took little sips in case that tipped over the vomiting scale one more time. Because seriously, I just couldn't take another go-round.
I missed a wedding Saturday. I missed church Sunday. I was still weak this morning but took Middle Chicken to the oral surgeon to get four more teeth pulled so she can get braces.
You could tip me over with a feather right now. I'm not playing.
I only get this type of virus once every two years or so. Thank God. One time it sent me to the E.R.
I was headed that way again, before I located some phenagren and prayer.
Now that I've purged the hideous weekend onto my blog, I feel better.
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