Last night, when I jokingly mentioned that I had diarrhea, I wasn’t expecting that it was going to get much, much worse. I thought that it was just a passing thing, having more to do with the fact that I’d eaten breakfast at a greasy spoon, had unrefrigerated leftover chili for lunch, and scarfed down tons of Indian food for dinner, than it did with anything else. I guess it was at about 2:00 AM that things took a dramatic turn toward the worse, and I realized, as I lay doubled over in pain and covered in my own shit, that it really wasn’t all that terribly funny.
For the next twelve hours, I spent my time evenly distributed between the bed and the toilet, occasionally confusing the two in my delirium. I had all the classic symptoms of the flu; the explosive diarrhea, the cold sweats, the excruciating muscle cramps and the dry heaves. It was pretty bad. Fortunately, Linette was willing to bring me water, do laundry as it became necessary and remind me that I probably wans’t going die. I know I don’t say it enough, but she’s one hell of a woman, and I can’t imagine how much more somthing like this would suck if someone were alone…. Anyway, it’s now about 24 hours later and, even though I don’t feel so great, I get the sense that I might be coming down the other side. Urine, at least, has begun coming out of the part of me that it’s supposed to come out of, and I take that as a pretty good sign.
Now I’m headed back to bed.
(If you have it in you to do me a favor, please keep a positive thought for Clementine, Linette, and our recent houseguests. I’d hate to have any of them come down with this.)