So this week I give you my second post in as many weeks, and thanks to my action-packed weekend, it's slightly more than a sentence. In fact, it's a legendary tale of sorts...a tale of streaks broken, strength lost, and weekends wasted. It's a story of brilliant ideas backfiring and GI tracts giving up. I call this one..."Food Poisoning."
Well, at least food poisoning is what Dawn and I assume the two of us got on Friday night. Maybe we had a quick dose of a stomach flu, but the fact that we were both sick at the same exact time after eating the same exact thing and that Evan never showed any symptoms leads us to believe that it was something we ate. Regardless, I'll jump right into things, divulging just enough to get my point across, but hopefully not enough to gross you out. And let me preface everything by saying that Dawn was easily as ill as I was this weekend, but I will not tell you any of her personal details. She's not really one to talk about things like that, so if she wants you to know, I'll let her do it herself.
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So Friday night, I asked Dawn, "What should we eat tonight?" And for the first time since we've been married, I heard one of three things that I pray to hear in response to that question every single night (the other two being peanut butter & jelly sandwiches and hot dogs) -- she responded, "I think Chinese food sounds good." My obvious response to this was the ignition key turning clockwise and a quick trip over to Hy-Vee for some Chinese Express (which, you should know, I do enjoy and have enjoyed upwards of 20 times to date). I ordered the orange chicken with fried rice and crab rangoon, and Dawn ordered the vegetable chicken, fried rice and an egg roll.
CUT TO:
Aaron in fetal position on the bathroom floor pricing caskets.
Actually, while part of that sentence did actually happen later, I'll fill in some of the blanks leading up to that. And I'll remind the reader that, going into last weekend I hadn't knowingly thrown up since second grade.
Dawn woke up at about 3:00 on Saturday morning, and flipped on the hallway light pretty hastily. That means she was either looking for something in the hall closet, sleepwalking, or playing a cruel joke on me (because it wakes me up every time). She returned some time later with the bathroom trash can. At that point in time, I didn't understand why she had the trash, but didn't care much either. I was more concerned with myself, and what I thought was extreme lower back pain, profuse sweating and a bit of a chill. After an hour or so of tossing and turning, I headed to the guest room downstairs to lie on a different bed in a cooler room. As I made my way past the bathroom downstairs I felt the sudden urge to stop. But still half asleep, I passed off a pretty severe stomach cramp as back pain and just kept going to the bedroom. There I tried lying on the bed first, then an hour later the floor, then an hour later the hallway floor (on freezing-cold tile), and then finally the bed again. Nothing worked, but it didn't matter. It was already 6:30 and Evan was blabbering up in his crib (he started standing in his crib this weekend, by the way). It was time for him to eat.
While feeding Evan his morning oatmeal, I knew it was going to be a bad day. I had no idea just how bad, but I could tell my stomach was not right. But remember, I don't get stomach problems very often so I usually just chase discomfort away with more food. So naturally, I ate a bowl of cereal and a few pieces of toast, a banana and some orange juice. And, as always, I felt better and thought I had "pushed the baddies out of my tummy." But not so fast. About an hour later I started feeling really sick, at which time I headed to the bathroom and had a very unpleasant experience. And while I thought at that time that I was going to vomit, I didn't. This same thing happened at least 10 more times before 3 p.m., at which time I actually was lying in front of the toilet in the fetal position. I was in so much pain that I repeatedly asked Dawn if I should stick my fingers down my throat and make myself throw up so I could feel better. She kept advising against it. But after an hour or so of extreme stomach cramps, it happened. The 20+ year streak came to an end. Just like that. And it was violent.
Yet satisfying.
I actually felt really good afterward (relatively, I suppose). And I was able to behave as if nothing was wrong for at least another hour, when I started making frequent trips to the bathroom again, though I never again felt like I could throw up. This went on without rest until bedtime, at which time this extreme gas pain in my stomach started. It was as if I was getting kicked in the stomach by someone and God stopped time just as the pain started...and then He forgot to start time again. It resulted in a lot of tossing and turning and even some getting up and walking around, with a few periodic trips to the bathroom involved. I managed probably five decent hours of sleep, and Sunday I was seemingly on the mend, as the bathroom visits became fewer and further between, and the pain went away slowly.
Since then, I've just been weak and a little light-headed at times. My shoulders hurt yesterday when I got up, and my back was sore when I went to bed last night. I lost around six pounds from Friday night to this morning (two pounds of which was beard), and I don't have a lot of motivation to do much of anything. And yesterday, I took my first ever sick day of work at any job I've ever had. So that streak is at its end as well. What a crazy weekend. And to thank for it all I have Nathan, the area high school student who figured it would be fine to leave a pan of chicken out for nine hours due to the fact that there was a tiny little flame underneath it.
