Ok. It's time to share the gory, nauseating, and frequently humiliating details of my weekend visit by a virus I like to call the Flu-Devil. It all started on a beautiful, yet boring Sunday. I managed to get all 4 of my little boys off to church in the morning. It's a rarity lately. Upon returning home the hubby and I whipped up a delicious dinner. Now I'm going to share with you the contents of this meal so that you can later visualize more effectively with sights and sounds. We ingested a lovely artichoke with a side of butter sauce, pork roast with turnips, carrots, potatoes and onions cooked in olive oil and seasonings, and homemade bread. Yummy right? Hold you're horses.
On with the story. After watching my slave children do dinner clean-up I retired to the big TV to watch a chick flick all by my lonesome. All was well for about 1 hour. That was when the nausea set in. It was swift, intense, and horrifying. Of course my natural reaction was that my husband had poisoned me to get at my life insurance. I thought, Ok, I'll go vomit my lovely dinner then start plotting my revenge. The first vomit went nicely, although as you can imagine by the contents of my dinner it was full of very interesting consistencies and aromas. Too graphic?
As you can imagine it did not end there. I continued to vomit every 30 minutes for about 4 hours. As the puking was blissfully subsiding the Devil Virus decided to take a trip down south and took up residency in my lower GI Tract. Now I can proudly say that usually my sphincters are all well intact and do their job quite nicely. But, on this occasion they ran for the hills and let the Devil do his thing. This continued for a while until Wade finally put me in bed, ordered me to sleep for awhile, turned off the lights and shut the door. This is where I get my revenge.
To his credit I did sleep for about 15 minutes. I woke up to that rushing sensation that all the southerners were making a run for the border and there was no police backup being called in. I sprinted for the toilet and made it, just barely. That's the last thing I remember. Wade said he heard a thump, followed closely by another so he beelined to the bedroom to see what shenanigans I was up to. He found me on my throne, in all my queen-like glory, eye's wide open, but completely passed out. He tried to shake me to alertness, sneaking in a few slaps here and there, but no go. He dragged me to the floor and called 911.
After about 10 - 15 minutes I finally came to. I woke up to the sound of his voice above me and opened my eyes to find him on the phone. I thought, how rude! I'm dying here and he's being Chatty Cathy. No but seriously all I could think or say was "I'm sorry, why am I on the floor and what is that awful smell?" I heard a knock at the door, our local friendly policeman responding to the call, who Wade conveniently knew (of course, Small Town), followed soon by the trampling of EMT footsteps into my bathroom. "What medications has she taken, What has she eaten today, Did she hit her head" (he also knew all of the EMT's, of course)
I remember not being able to move my legs, apologizing alot, and trying to calm down my husband in my dazed state. I was deemed healthy enough to ride in my own chariot to the ER and off we went. After a full bag of fluids with a side of Zofran I was human again. I was really hoping to be the first diagnosed case of the swine flu in Utah, but it didn't pan out for me. It was nothing but a normal, run of the mill, Devil virus run amock.
The moral of this little tale is, no matter how gross you feel, and how inactive you're sphincters are behaving, you must continue to drink. Preferably something with electrolytes!
