The Worm Turns, Act I

WARNING: THIS IS A MEDICAL DRAMA AND INVOLVES TALK OF GRODY THINGS

Sunday, August 9, 2009

10:00 p.m.: Arrive at home after teaching a very satisfactory class, fall straight into bed.

11:30 p.m.: Wake up in a cold sweat, feeling vaguely disoriented.

11:35 p.m.: Ash comes to bed. The jostling of his climb into bed breaks loose a wave of nausea and I run for the bathroom.

11:55 p.m.: I want to lay down on the cool tile of our bathroom floor and wait for the nausea to pass or for the inevitable to happen.

11:56 p.m.: Our bathroom floor is disgusting. When is the last time someone swept the floor in here?

11:57 p.m.: Move to the hallway floor in front of the bathroom. Better because it's clean. Worse because hardwood is not as cool as tile. Stomach cramps are making the nausea worse. Getting to the point of actually wanting to puke, but not quite there yet.

11:59 p.m.: Worry that Ash will get up to find out if I'm okay and accidentally step on me. Move to floor of Ash's office, next to the bathroom.

12:02 a.m.: Carpet is too warm. Fan is not on and room is too stuffy. Fan is also too far away to consider turning on. Think about moving back to the bathroom floor. Remember gross dust bunnies. Stay put.

12:15 a.m.: Please, God, let me puke. At least I'll feel better then.

12:30 a.m.: I do not feel better. That is very strange. You always feel better after you puke, even if you're going to puke again later.

12:35 a.m.: Bathroom floor not so bad. Want to die.

12:39 a.m.: Reassure Ash that I've just got some stupid bug. I'll be back to bed in a little while when my stomach settles down.

12:50 a.m.: Getting worried now. Consult Dr. Google. Get a lot of mumbo jumbo about stomach flu. This feels much worse than any stomach bug I've ever had.

1:10 a.m.: Take temperature. 99.6 is not exactly a raging fever. Is that good? Don't you usually get a fever with a stomach bug? If so, does that mean the lack of a fever is bad? Perhaps I can return to Dr. Google's office for a follow-up consultation if I just lay here on the nice, cool tile for a minute.

1:30 a.m.: Wake Ash up. Not sure what I think he's going to do, but I need a cooler head here. No, the pain isn't on the right side. No, I'm not running a fever. OK, sweetie, you're probably right, it's just a stomach bug. I'm going to go lay in the bathroom again for awhile.

1:32 a.m.: Being sick in the middle of the night suuuuuuucks. Hopefully this stomach bug will be gone by morning. Guess I'll have to call in. Maybe I can just take a half day and sleep a little later.

1:34 a.m.: How can I be this nauseous and not throw up?

1:36 a.m.: Also? The stomach cramps are awful. What on earth is UP with this? AND my back is killing me.

1:38 a.m.: What if this isn't the stomach flu? Wonder what the symptoms of appendicitis are?

1:39 a.m.: Pain starting around the navel-- CHECK. Fever-- nope. Pain migrates to right side-- well, not yet, but who knows what will happen later? Back pain? CHECK. Nausea-- CHECK. Vomiting-- CHECK.

1:40 a.m.: Oh God.

1:41 a.m.: Naaaaaaaaw. Who actually ends up with the illnesses that they find by Dr. Google? No one, that's who.

1:42 a.m.: Oh God.

1:43 a.m.: Maybe I should just wait until morning and see how this goes. I mean, really, I cannot go the emergency room just to be told "You've got a stomach bug. Go home, drink lots of fluids, get some rest."

1:44 p.m.: Oh God.

1:45 p.m.: OK, seriously, I've got to get some perspective. Am I overreacting here? WHY does this stuff always happen in the middle of the night? Should I wake up Ash? Gah, he's got to work in the morning, I'd better let him sleep.

1:46 p.m.: The tile isn't cold enough anymore.

1:48 p.m.: This carpet is too warm.

1:50 p.m.: Oh God.

1:51 p.m.: Re-read symptoms. Oh God.

1:52 p.m.: Wake up Ash. Insist that he join me for a consultation with Dr. Google. Ash wearily agrees. The skepticism is rolling off of him in waves, but he offers to take me to the ER if I think it's necessary.

1:54 p.m.: We throw on some clothes. I have the foresight to wear my softest elastic waistband pants. I do not have the foresight to put my headband back on to keep my hair out of my sweaty face. This will drive me crazy in the very near future. Ash waits for me to lace my shoes, which is difficult, what with the nasty pain in my stomach. I grab a bucket from the bathroom on the way out. You know, just in case. God, please don't let me have to use it.

1:55 p.m.: Can't make it down the stairs. Wait on bench in front of the building for Ash to pull the car around. Hurts to sit. Hurts to stand. This sucks.

1:56 p.m.: Ash asks me which hospital I want to go to. Who cares? THE ONE THAT'S MAYBE A MILE AWAY. How about that one? Ash hits the gas and we're off.

TO BE CONTINUED...