The end of an illness brings with it a certain newness through revelation. I believe this is true even in cases where the illness is essentially harmless on the grand scheme, such as a stomach bug–not that a person who is currently in the throes of one such vile interloper would agree that it is harmless. Still, it isn’t as if it matters; those at least seemingly unfortunate fools won’t be reading this until after they get better; right now they’re too busy saying things like, “Dear Jesus, why have you let this heinous malady settle on me so?”–They might not be expressing that in such genteel fashion–and “I knew I should have never badmouthed Aretha Franklin back in the 90s, but who could have predicted that the Lord of Hosts would be such a fan of “Chain of Fools” and “Freeway of Love.”
Earlier this week, I could have attested to such heinousness; even earlier in the week than that, I could have attested to it as well. It is now 2:30 on Saturday morning, and I am right about two days removed from the illness, about two days removed from the dawning of the revelation.
Let’s backtrack a bit, and I’ll try to make it as quick as I can.
I woke up sick Sunday morning. Becky and the boys were near to heading out the door for church, after which they would drive six hours to rural Ohio–which is almost redundant to say–to her sister Karrie’s house for a few days.
It was established that, if there had been any question about whether or not I would be going, there no longer was; I wasn’t going to Ohio or church or anywhere. I was going to Sicktown.
I thought that sucked, of course, but I resigned myself to it, figuring that it would only be for two days, which would give me two and a half days after with an empty house. While I knew I would have to work hard to do so, I felt that much time would be sufficient for me to finish my second draft of The Situation with Phillip. That hopefulness turned out to be a skosh pie in the sky, however.
On Sunday, I managed to keep nothing down. Nothing. Zero ounces multiplied by zero grams multiplied by zero calories multiplied by zero vitamins, minerals, antioxidants, probiotics, and One-a-Day Essentials chewables is an easy enough equation to solve. Tell me when you’re caught up.
Monday was better. Monday, I could keep down some water. Maybe I could have kept down a little bit of food as well, but I don’t think I even tried. I hadn’t felt well enough to go downstairs other than to let the dog in and out and to make sure that the other animals–one inside cat, three barnyard cats, a hamster, a guinea pig hoping to become the world’s fattest, and a red-footed tortoise–had enough of what they needed to not become casualties of my ill bachelorhood. I had also gone down once to shut all of the windows, the 60 degree night proving to be a but too brisk for my first spate of fever.
That was just the first half of the day, though, as early in the afternoon Becky’s mom came up to give me a ride to the doctor.
I didn’t eat anything, but I took a shower and put on fresh clothes, which of course is at least a start in the process of at least seeming to feel better.
I had stopped throwing up at some point earlier in the day–such illnesses running like a hallucinogenic dream or a long Vegas weekend pretty much guarantees one no concept of time, I might have stopped at about 20 past my seventh streamed rerun of The West Wing or a quarter til my fourth of The Blacklist. I must have stopped earlier, because I don’t recall that it was any great relief that I didn’t throw up any while I was in the shower, getting dressed, riding to the doctor’s, waiting, being examined, going to the pharmacy for Pepto, heading back home, or sitting at the kitchen counter with Kathy–that’s my mother-in-law’s name–for the hour or so that she hung out with me, chatting, after we got back to the house. Still, I did all of those things, and I don’t recall once even threatening to be sick.
Clearly, I had made the turn out of Sicktown and heading toward Feelingsomewhatbetter
ville.
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