so i just spent 2 days curled up in bed with a nasty stomach bug. and i wonder not from where i contracted the pest, but more so why it always strikes after i have eaten an unusually large 12 course meal mere hours before. it was sunday pig out day and i take that very seriously. my only saving grace was that the wee ones and i happened to be sleeping at my mom’s the night the virus attacked, which meant i had my mommy to take care of me. it was almost worth being sick, because during the marriage (a term which i use loosely), the hat normally left me for dead when i got sick. he was most likely too busy allegedly jacking off or allegedly toking up and lost track of time in a drug haze like those parents of the infant in trainspotters. but, i digress…

i find the suspense of the crippling nausea to be worse than the actual up-chucking, for awhile i beg my stomach to hold steady and then i do a 180 and beg to just get it over with because you really do feel better after the ol’ heave ho. it’s all about facing the fear for me. but then the suspense starts all over again for round 2. i always find an hour to be the magic amount of time. if i can just get  past an hour i will be fine. if i can just sleep. and why is it always in the middle of the night when these things happen? i always think, if i can make it through the night i will be fine. it will all be over when the sun shines. and it just blows my mind if i barf during the day.

so, while my partially digested meal proceeded to exit six times using all possible means of egress, and i was laying in the fetal position on the bathroom floor, i was thinking, “at least i’m losing weight.” never mind, the broken blood vessels all around my eyes, the dehydration, sallow skin, and relentless physical torture. naturally, i couldn’t wait to get on that scale when i was finally able to rise above a crawl position. and then the cruelest of all jokes: not one ounce lost. how is that possible? isn’t there an entire eating disorder based on this premise? what was i doing wrong?

but it was so nice to have mommy there to take care of me. she brought me water, flat coke, hot tea, held my hair back, & cleaned up after me like she used to when i was a kid. which means bad news for us mothers: it turns out no matter how old our kids get, we are never ever done cleaning up vomit & poo. well, you’re the best mom. and uh, thanks for the loaner undies, the reason which necessitated such, we have agreed never to speak of again…

on the second eve of the aftermath, i am still wiped out and i am finally just able to keep down water. my stomach is still gurgling incessantly and i am in fear of a full relapse. then there is also the worry about the rest of the household being struck down with the same merciless ailment. how many days is it until you can be sure it’s icy grip has passed like the angel of death on pessach? is there some pagan offering to be left for it to skip your children? can i smear lamb’s blood on my door?

i have a friend who lives in fear of stomach viruses and will quarantine you at the mere mention of “throw-up.” her children are interrogated every day after they get home, with, “did anyone throw up at school today? did anyone say they were nauseous? did anyone mention being around anybody who was sick? did anyone go to the nurse? was any sawdust spread on the floor of any room by yours? no? fine. go wash your hands before you touch anything!” her mother once sent back 52 bags of groceries because the cashier mentioned she felt nauseous at the end of the transaction. so, it would seem my pal does come by it honestly, and in following parental suit, she has a complicated formula by which she figures out the square root of the hypotenuse of how many days from initial exposure until infectious danger has passed and she will agree to meet you out in public. the time frame for when you are allowed back into her home or vice verse is an entirely other much longer formula which is proprietary and usually works out to be a minimum of 6 weeks. mind you she is no math whiz, but she has a ph.d in barf. she claims it’s because she can’t stand to see her children suffer. i say it’s more to do with cleaning the carpet. oh, wait, that’s me.

please, don’t get me wrong, i hate to ever see my girls in any discomfort, but i was quite thrilled when they learned how to make it to the bathroom on time or at least aim successfully into the bedside bucket. i have a weak stomach & overactive gag reflex which makes cleaning up vomit more difficult for me than your average bear. i once came very close to barfing on my own baby at the sight of a diarrhea explosion up to her armpits. i had to strap her to the changing table & run to the toilet. so, it’s no surprise i have to talk myself down when i have to deal with puke. i repeat a mantra of, “grow up. deal. you are NOT going to throw up. keep it together, dammit.” only thing hat was ever minimally useful for was that particular clean-up detail. and when kids get sick, they always manage to sprinkle every piece of linen on the bed and projectile within a 5 mile radius. baby spit-up was bad enough & was generally controllable with my babies. but when they got bigger and  it turned into real vomit, i was done for. and don’t get me started on barfing in a moving vehicle. that strikes terror into my heart like nothing else. that is one scenario for which i am rarely prepared. the clean-up is monumental. you might as well total the car at that point. is there a vomit clause in auto insurance? there should be if not. i must ask that progressive chick.

then there is nothing quite like the test of a relationship when barf is introduced. does he run screaming or does he hold your hair back? does he barf along side you at the sight of vomit or does he want to rub your back and sleep next to you on the floor of the bathroom even though you protest pitifully? does he bring blankets into the bathroom for you while breaking & entering even though you tried to lock him out because it’s just too soon for him to see you this way & you are really embarrassed? cute bf saw me at my worst fairly early on and i knew if he didn’t bail then, there may be no getting rid of this guy!

anyway, that concludes my dissertation on vomtiology.  now, here i sit, sipping flat bourbonless coke, patiently waiting for a complete recovery. hoping i will be ready to face the world in 24 hours knowing the world has no idea what i just faced a mere 24 hours earlier. if i am lucky i will be able to have a cup of coffee with my friend in 8 weeks or so when she agrees to see me to celebrate the spring thaw…