Tuesday, November 2, 2010

When illness strikes...

It's been a while since I blogged. Or at least it feels that way. I'm on my second week of illness, but each of the two weeks has been a cornucopia of symptoms, keeping me on my toes.

Last week's illness is a funny story now, but it wasn't last Wednesday when I was in the fetal position on the floor with "happy" stickers on my bathrobe.

The day started like any other weekday -- me running around like a chicken with my head cut off, the girls either chasing me to ask questions or completely ignoring me as they sit zombie-like in front of the t.v.

As I drove Audrey to school, my stomach started to really hurt. Not. Good. I practically shoved her out the door so I could get home...certain that if I could lie down for a few minutes, I'd feel better.

First I called to cancel my dental appt for later that morning. The receptionist sounded skeptical of my last-minute excuse, but if she saw me at the exact time I was to be in their office, she would have insisted I remain at home.

Nina and I get back home and I lay on the couch, stomach cramping. I can't tell if I'm gonna puke, but I know the pains aren't from hunger (I actually hadn't eaten anything, but that also helped me rule out food poisoning). I tell Nina that I can't take her to school because I'm too sick. She barely looks at me because it's a critical moment on Curious George.

I decide to crawl into the kitchen to mix ginger and water. It's the nasty cocktail Michael always makes me when my stomach is upset and I know it'll either settle the stomach or make me barf. I'll take either at this point. So I get down the box 'o medical goodies, but now my stomach hurts so much that I have to lie down on the kitchen floor. I'm on my side, trying to get comfortable. Fetal position seems best. Tummy rumbles, I feel like I'm about to get relief...then...BAM!

I crapped my pants.

Let me rephrase that...I firehose sprayed my jeans with soupy poopy. Worst. Feeling. Ever.

So now I crawl furiously to the bathroom. Nina's still watching George. Now, this part becomes a little fuzzy because I'm not entirely sure I didn't blackout at some point. I think it was a combination of the smell, pain and downright horrific realization at what just happened and I still have a 3 year old to care for.

After what feels like an eternity, I crawl half-naked to the bedroom where I put on fresh undies. So now I'm wearing athletic socks, boy short undies and a t-shirt. The chills begin to hit me so I grab my robe from the bed. (It's important now to note that the robe was a gift from my hubby. It resembles an Easter egg because it's white, powder blue, pink and light green...striped.). My outfit just went from bad to worse.

I yell for Nina and ask her to find a phone and bring it to me. She obeys like a good little 3 year old and runs back to her t.v. I call Michael, no answer. I call his cell, no answer. I need help. Pain is awful, so wiped I can't stand...praying Nina doesn't need anything any time soon. I know Mom's driving to Spokane, dad's out of town, Jaime doesn't answer her cell. I don't want to call anyone with kids because they won't want to come to the house. I don't want to call my brother because I left a haze of poo in the other bathroom and I'm certain you can smell it from the front door.

That's when I start crying and Nina kneels beside me. "You want me to call 911?"

Me: Oh god, no, thanks honey. If you do that, I'll have to crawl to the door like this. I'll just keep trying to call Dad.

I tried again 5 times and finally get him. I don't elaborate on the situation. Rather, I whimper and tell him to get home pronto. I hang up and Nina brings me a cup of water (bless her) and covers me with her baby's blankets. Then she sits next to me and pats my back.

Michael shows up, takes one look around and asks, "What's going on?" I reply, "Um, I'm sick." He makes me the ginger stuff, I barf many times, crawl into bed and sleep for 4 hours.

During this time, my dear hubby cleans the other bathroom (including the grotesque clothes that I would have THROWN AWAY). When I wake up, I notice little stickers on my bathrobe. "Nina? Did you put these on me?" She replies, "Yep. So they make you happy."

Love that kid.

1 comment:

  1. I'm hoping you feel better today. I've been there...when I had one in diapers. It seems the kids keep it together when we're falling apart. Take care!