James vs. stomach (stomach wins)

I went out for a kickass Mexican dinner on Tuesday night. Mexican food, especially when done well, remains a favorite of mine. Cheese! Hot stuff! Bottomless chips! I’m in!

Almost immediately after the meal (which didn’t conclude with the customary flan), my stomach started feeling kinda strange. Maybe I’d had too much to eat? Well, that was a given, but I wasn’t feeling the way I usually do after a good binge eating.

Heading into my airshift, I felt…strange. I couldn’t shake the discomfort that was coming from my abdomen. I started to get periodic rushes of saliva to the back of my throat which reminded me of some extreme bedspin moments in college. I felt periodic chills. I chalked everything up to fatigue. I never sleep, and because of that, my body tends to rebel against me at any opportunity.

By 4 a.m., I felt queasy and seriously uncomfortable. By 5, I was feeling full-on sick and couldn’t wait to bolt out the station door. I started to get the cold sweats and chills in the car on my way home. Fatigue had nothing to do with what was going on with me. I was barfy. No doubt about it.

I tried to throw up when I walked in the door, but I was apparently jumping the gun. I sprawled out on the couch, basically waiting for the flood. My stomach’s voice grew louder by the minute, making noises like the death rattle of a German Shepherd.

By 7 a.m., I dove into the bathroom and hit the dirt. Within seconds, my stomach was pumping out a fiesta of undigested Mexican food. I’d forgotten how truly miserable vomiting is. You can’t stop it from coming—your body works totally independent of your mind. I went a few rounds and then tucked myself in to bed, where I instantly fell asleep.

Then I woke up at 8:15 to throw up. Then 9:30. I also woke up at 11 and 12 feeling nauseous, but not nauseous enough to hurl. I stayed in bed for the rest of the day, which was a good 17 hours or so.

I feel better today–though by “better,” I mean “not barfy.”

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