Back with the living

I've been to hell and back, and I'm here to tell everyone that it sucks. I wouldn't recommend it to anyone.

It all started last Thursday. I woke up in the morning feeling a bit "off" if you will. But I wake up most Thursdays feeling that way, seeing as how I have to be into work earlier than normal every Thursday morning ... so I didn't think much of it. The day progressed as usual: doing a few projects here, reading a few blogs there. I was still feeling slightly different than normal: less energetic, with an all around yucky feeling. The day couldn't have gone by slower. All I wanted to do was go home, but I still had commitments to attend after work, so home was a LONG way off.

By the time 4:00 rolled around I finally admitted to myself that I was sick. I could barely lift my head off my desk in time to run to the bathroom just so I could puke up my lunch. Yes, I puked at work. And for those of you who have not had the pleasure of doing this before, it's not fun. Not only did I puke at work, but I didn't make it to the toilet in time and had to barf in the sink. So after I was done wretching my guts out, I had to clean the chunks out of the sink because I clogged it up. I could tell that this was going to be the start of something really, really fun!

I was scheduled to volunteer for something after work. By this time, it was way too late to find a replacement. But there was no way in hell I would be able to volunteer for this event (it involved food, which the thought of made me barf). Looking very green and pasty, I sat down at my desk once again to find people's e-mail addresses to notify of my absence for the night's event. And wouldn't you know it, God loves me ... there in my inbox was a little e-mail from a sweet lady offering to help with the night's event. FREEDOM! After explaining my predicament she gracefully volunteered to take my place for the night, allowing me to go home and crawl in bed.

And that's exactly what I did.

For the next 24 hours all I remember is sleeping, and waking up every few hours to vomit. BSC tried to take care of his nasty wife as best he could by putting a trashcan beside my bed, holding back my hair every time he heard the awful gagging noise, and placing cushy bathmats in front of the toilets to spare my knees from the cold tile. He even made me some toast because that was the only thing I could possibly think of eating, yet after one bite, it too promptly came back up. I don't know how in the world my body produced so much nastiness in a small 24 hour period. I knew I had thrown-up my lunch (remember the chunks), but where in the world was all this other stuff coming from? I hadn't eaten in well over 24 hours, so why was stuff still coming up? I guess we'll never know the weirdness of how my body works.

The next day I still felt shaky and a bit uneasy about food, but nowhere near the misery I had felt the day before. We determined it had to be some sort of food poisoning. BSC also got the pleasure of cleaning out the "dreaded trashcan." I'll let him tell you that story.