I debated titling this entry something a bit more appealing, but if you can’t blog about puke then what’s the point, really? Besides, vomit is exactly what my last three days have been all about…
I woke up around 4am on Tuesday morning with a funny feeling in my stomach. Now, on Monday night I had eaten a bunch of Thanksgiving leftovers that (thanks to a lack of Tupperware) were packaged more or less haphazardly so at first I thought maybe my stomach was simply rebelling over something I ate. Rolling over, I forced myself back to sleep until my alarm went off two hours later.
By six o’clock I wasn’t feeling any better. In fact, I was feeling worse. I had to stop in the middle of my shower to sit down because I thought I might pass out and even after putting make-up on I still looked like a ghost. A normal person would have called in sick to work but I trudged up the stairs and breezed in to my host family’s apartment. My host mother’s first words were: Welcome to my hospital. The two oldest kids had been up all night throwing up. A light bulb clicked somewhere inside my head but instead of explaining my symptoms like a normal person (I have an extreme work ethic that sometimes verges on insanity), I headed to the kitchen to start washing bottles.
About five minutes in to washing I started to see bright spots and I knew I was going to throw up. I always get really dizzy right before I hurl. Slowly, calmly, I turned to put the last of the bottles on the drying rack and that’s when it happened: the heaving. Covering my mouth with my hand I ran for the guest bathroom, tripping over a toy and my own purse on the way and very nearly going face first into a wall (looking back I can see this being somewhat comical). I could hear my host mom calling after me just as I made it to the toilet to puke my guts out. Twice.
I spent the rest of Tuesday in bed. Literally. I slept for 20 hours. It was like a coma. And at the end of the coma I still felt sick and nauseous but, because I’m stupid, on Wednesday morning I trudged my way back upstairs—this time to find that both of my host parents were also sick (in the end, the only one who escaped what we are now collectively referring to as “The Disease” was the baby).
On Wednesday I made it through 3 hours of watching the baby while my host parents slept before I crawled back to my apartment and took a six hour nap. I also managed to eat an apple without wanting to rip my stomach from my body afterwards so I knew that things were looking up.
This morning I tried once again to help out as much as I could but after only a few hours of work I was given the rest of the day off. I was also given some delicious homemade chicken noodle soup (courtesy of my host mom) and an Advent calendar complete with chocolate and a C.D. of German Christmas music, so I wouldn’t call the day a complete loss J
All in all, The Disease is not something I care to repeat. Ever. The sweat-sleep-vomit mixture I lived in on Tuesday and Wednesday was completely and utterly miserable. But, I can now add “become disgustingly ill in a foreign country” to my list of life accomplishments… See, there’s always a silver lining, just have to know where to look