On Blowing Chunks (Not my Dog's Name)

(Warning: This post contains TMI. So, if you are grossed out easily, stop reading.)

Because I am no longer a full-time weekend person, and am now a part-time weekend person, I get to have some weekend shifts off. Of course, there is the pay cut that goes along with that, but we won't dwell on that, mm'kay?

I get my birthday weekend off, so in trade, I had to work last night. Midweek. It was odd. But do not fear, I had packed a tasty lunch of leftover corned beef and cabbage. The night was shit, mostly dealing with a resident who wanted to give a patient Mylanta for his chest pain, instead of say, NITROGLYCERIN!!! We argued back and forth on the patients heart rhythm, she thought he was normal, I said otherwise. I even took a poll from the other nurses, those who work in the tele monitor room, and we all agreed that this resident was an idiot. Her senior was brought in who sided with the nurses, and we got the patient squared away. Crisis averted!

But at least lunch was good.

Around 5, I started feeling blah. As time progressed, more and more blah. After I signed off, I sat in the break room. The nurses were descending on a box of bagels. I caught one whiff and my stomach turned. Another nurse was cleaning her stethoscope with alcohol, and the smell of it almost pushed me over the edge.

Of course, whenever any female is nauseated, comes the obligatory remarks of, "Are you pregnant?"

No, I'm not pregnant, and thanks for your concern.

In what could be the longest drive home, I fought the rise of bile in my throat, but I had a bag handy just in case I didn't make it. Finally, I pulled into the garage, rushed into the laundry room, and proceeded to expel everything in my stomach to the nasty toilet that resides there. Most everything that came up is undigested corned beef...that I ate six hours prior.

Funny thing about my tummy. If it knows something isn't right with the food I ate, the pyloric sphincter locks down and food goes nowhere but up from whence it came.

Having missed the toilet a couple times, I try to clean up my mess, trying not to start a chain of gagging in the process. Yeah, I got it all over my scrub top, too.

Strip down to my pajamas, crawl into bed, where my tummy is making it's displeasure known. Thirty minutes of intense abdominal pain that has me curled up in the fetal position and wondering if I should go to the ER, I stumble into the bathroom and launch my second salvo of pissing out my ass. So much, that I think my entire system is full of wretched, foul-smelling, cabbage byproduct. The smell is so rank, I immediately grab the garbage can and try to throw up my uterus.

Shooting out of both ends like some sort of Chinese firecracker of luck.

Meanwhile, Brother is in the back yard playing with Hank. He can hear my loud retching, and starts mimicking the sounds coming from my bathroom window. Asshole.

This passes, and I brush my teeth, drink some water, go back to bed.

What happens from the hours of 9am and 1pm is a vicious cycle: sleep for 15-30 minutes, feel the urge, go sit on the toilet, barf in garbage can. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

I damn near cried when I found a bottle of Imodium in my medicine cabinet. Too bad it didn't help.

So, three pajama changes later, for various reasons, I think my entire GI system is completely empty. I manage to sleep for 45 minutes this time. My stomach still bitching me out. This has to be the worst case of food poisoning I have ever encountered.

I did what any normal person would do, I called my Mommy who will be bringing me beverages this afternoon.

And that is how I spent my Thursday. I'm exhausted due to lack of sleep. Thirsty, but unable to keep anything down. AND, I have a vomit-filled garbage can that I need to figure out what to do with. There's no way in hell I'm going to the gym tonight. I can't stray more than 6 feet away from a toilet without disastrous consequences. AND, the sheer force and magnitude of my barfing has rendered me looking like I have freckles because of all the popped blood vessels on my face.

To sum it up, I look like a shit sandwich.

How are you?