The Stomach Bug
I firmly believe that the best—the VERY best—way to feel instantaneously non-crappy is to recently pull through the stomach flu. Because when you’ve felt I-just-want-to-die nauseous for SO LONG and then finally receive a breather, why, you feel like you could go run a marathon. Or, well, at least SKIP a little bit. You know?
Warning: This post is completely gross. I apologize. Do not read if you’re eating or have a weak stomach.
Last weekend, Charlotte got a stomach bug. The poor girl woke up screaming and crying, and I found her covered head to toe in vomit. She was scared, confused, shaking, and miserable, and mean mommy that I am, I dumped her straight into a bath. The stuff was in her hair, after all. I dealt with Charlotte while Chris stripped the bed and cleaned the carpet and wall (yes, the wall). I then put Charlotte to bed in one of the guest bedrooms and lay down with her until she nodded off.
“She must have just eaten something bad,” we lied to ourselves.
“If not,” Chris said, “We’ll be sick by Monday evening—based on previous stomach virus math.”
By Monday, Charlotte was back to her old self. We drove into work separately instead of carpooling, in case one of us got sick. Well, by 1:30 p.m., I was throwing up nonstop into my (plastic-lined) office garbage can at work. When the worst of that particular bout ebbed, I ran out of the office and drove home—with the windows down—and prayed I’d make it.
Somehow, I made it home. On the way, I got a call from Chris that he was fading fast and on his way home too—but he had to stop and get Charlotte. I was mid-puke as the garage door opened, and fortunately (and I really do mean fortunately), I knew that I had about 90 seconds post-puke that I was mostly functional. I ran—ran!—to the garage and yelled at Chris to GO!, and he barreled past me to the bathroom while I got Charlotte out of the car.
The next hour or so is blurry. I remember hearing Charlotte crying for her daddy, which told me he was locked in the bathroom again. I forced myself downstairs to tend to her but instead ran to the kitchen sink to continue emptying the contents of my stomach while Charlotte tugged on my legs, shouting, “Mommy! Mommy!” With my 90 seconds of functionality after THAT bout, I put Charlotte to bed at 5:30 (she had eaten an early dinner) and just let her cry until about 6:00 or so when she fell asleep. Sue me, but I DID read her a book. Somehow. And she was safe. Frankly, that was the best we could do.
The evening dragged on. Chris felt significantly better (though still quite woozy), but I descended further into pathetic-ness. I’ve had horrible stomach viruses before, but this was by far the worst of my life. I literally could not stop throwing up. At this point, I was too sick to run for toilets, so I lay in a guest bedroom with a metal mixing bowl. When Chris heard the retching stop, he (bless his heart) would come take the bowl, empty it, rinse it out, and bring it back to me. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. AND REPEAT. He brought me water, juice, dry cornflakes, dry toast, and various other things I failed to keep down—all while pretty darn sick himself.
Meanwhile, I could not believe how long this ordeal was lasting. Most stomach viruses were short—several hours of misery and then you’re done. Finally, at 4:30 a.m., I did my final series of pathetically gross, worn-out retches, and just general mild nausea was all I had to battle from then on. So, the whole thing lasted—in full force—from 1:30 p.m. to 4:30 a.m. A long, long time.
Still, I was SO grateful for Chris’s sweet care of me and for handling Charlotte the next day. We both managed to make it home from work safely, and with Charlotte, and at least one of us (Chris) had a milder version and was able to take care of the other (me).
Stomach bugs are the WORST, but I suppose they show you what you can endure—when, you know, you have no choice.
But we’re through it and on to better and brighter days. Onward!
Warning: This post is completely gross. I apologize. Do not read if you’re eating or have a weak stomach.
Last weekend, Charlotte got a stomach bug. The poor girl woke up screaming and crying, and I found her covered head to toe in vomit. She was scared, confused, shaking, and miserable, and mean mommy that I am, I dumped her straight into a bath. The stuff was in her hair, after all. I dealt with Charlotte while Chris stripped the bed and cleaned the carpet and wall (yes, the wall). I then put Charlotte to bed in one of the guest bedrooms and lay down with her until she nodded off.
“She must have just eaten something bad,” we lied to ourselves.
“If not,” Chris said, “We’ll be sick by Monday evening—based on previous stomach virus math.”
By Monday, Charlotte was back to her old self. We drove into work separately instead of carpooling, in case one of us got sick. Well, by 1:30 p.m., I was throwing up nonstop into my (plastic-lined) office garbage can at work. When the worst of that particular bout ebbed, I ran out of the office and drove home—with the windows down—and prayed I’d make it.
Somehow, I made it home. On the way, I got a call from Chris that he was fading fast and on his way home too—but he had to stop and get Charlotte. I was mid-puke as the garage door opened, and fortunately (and I really do mean fortunately), I knew that I had about 90 seconds post-puke that I was mostly functional. I ran—ran!—to the garage and yelled at Chris to GO!, and he barreled past me to the bathroom while I got Charlotte out of the car.
The next hour or so is blurry. I remember hearing Charlotte crying for her daddy, which told me he was locked in the bathroom again. I forced myself downstairs to tend to her but instead ran to the kitchen sink to continue emptying the contents of my stomach while Charlotte tugged on my legs, shouting, “Mommy! Mommy!” With my 90 seconds of functionality after THAT bout, I put Charlotte to bed at 5:30 (she had eaten an early dinner) and just let her cry until about 6:00 or so when she fell asleep. Sue me, but I DID read her a book. Somehow. And she was safe. Frankly, that was the best we could do.
The evening dragged on. Chris felt significantly better (though still quite woozy), but I descended further into pathetic-ness. I’ve had horrible stomach viruses before, but this was by far the worst of my life. I literally could not stop throwing up. At this point, I was too sick to run for toilets, so I lay in a guest bedroom with a metal mixing bowl. When Chris heard the retching stop, he (bless his heart) would come take the bowl, empty it, rinse it out, and bring it back to me. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. AND REPEAT. He brought me water, juice, dry cornflakes, dry toast, and various other things I failed to keep down—all while pretty darn sick himself.
Meanwhile, I could not believe how long this ordeal was lasting. Most stomach viruses were short—several hours of misery and then you’re done. Finally, at 4:30 a.m., I did my final series of pathetically gross, worn-out retches, and just general mild nausea was all I had to battle from then on. So, the whole thing lasted—in full force—from 1:30 p.m. to 4:30 a.m. A long, long time.
Still, I was SO grateful for Chris’s sweet care of me and for handling Charlotte the next day. We both managed to make it home from work safely, and with Charlotte, and at least one of us (Chris) had a milder version and was able to take care of the other (me).
Stomach bugs are the WORST, but I suppose they show you what you can endure—when, you know, you have no choice.
But we’re through it and on to better and brighter days. Onward!
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