sickSunday night after running sound for the church I was invited out for supper with a group of aquaintances who I didn't know terribly well, but I decided I'd come along anyway. We ended up eating at TacoTime, then going to the tail end of Westview Church's worship night, where I got to take communion for the first time in a long time. Then we played tag for about an hour after the service, then went over to a couple of the guy's bachelor pad and watched School for Scoundrels. Aside from the fact that it was totally a guy movie, and full of overtures about male and female sexuality that are decidedly low-class, it wasn't a bad movie. Art History makes it tough for me to enjoy anything nowadays.We ended up ordering some pizza, and I thought I was merely paying for that the next day when I was uncomfortably gassy.
My Monday morning Art History wasn't too bad, and I spent a number of laborious hours working on one of my somewhat useless painting assignments in color mixing. Then I finished just in time to go to ballroom dancing. I hopped a bus, I wasn't feeling up to walking there. I went through the class in relative discomfort, though we were doing Cha Cha and thus I enjoyed it a little bit. Afterwards I asked the lovely lady who often gives me a ride home if she would mind giving me a lift to McNally Robinson, and she obliged. I had a small sub at Quiznos, but my stomach was really upset now.
By the time Jessie came to do coffee, I was really starting to feel it. We ended up discussing some fairly weighty issues and her idea for a novel. At some point, earlier than I would have liked, I hit the washroom, then I asked her to call her parents for a ride. By the time we got to the lobby I was sick as a dog, and I ended up throwing up in the front lobby garbage can, trying to space it while people weren't walking out. I have a history of throwing up in lobbies/embarrassing public spaces. Also, I joked to Jessie, "How many times have you seen me throw up now?" Only twice, she laughs. Ugh. The thing is, it's warm in there, and if I leave it without telling anyone, the whole place is going to stink like a garbage dump in half an hour. I steel myself, then walk to the side of the round front desk. "Excuse me, I'm not feeling well, I ended up throwing up in your front lobby garbage can, it's really warm in there, so I had to tell you or it will smell..." The lady said, "You look really pale!" and followed me to the front, where they took the can and replaced it. I breathed a sigh of relief that it was over with...
I am continuing to roil inside on the way home, and for the remainder of the night I am unable to sleep for more than an hour at a time without hitting the washroom, since it's coming out both ways. I have mentioned on LJ before that hacking/throwing up is my least favourite kind of sick - excuse the irony. It has something to do with how close it is to suffocation, I think, and how little control one has.
Insert countless hours of misery. Tuesday, 5am. I am heartily conscious that I'm not hitting class today. I try to call my Mom, but I can't raise my voice above normal talking volume and she can't hear me for a while. Finally, she passes my door and I get her attention, asking her to bring my Sculpture project in so she can hand it in for me on time. My prof is a bit of a nazi about handing stuff in, which is fair enough. I wasn't about to go get a doctor's note though. Way too much energy.
Tuesday passes. I can't eat. I spend the day similar to the night, except not throwing up.
Tuesday night, 12am-3am. I read a book that seems to be intended as a moral lesson, yet without reason or morality - it's called Affair in Palestine and I don't recommend it. Still in pain, and the most I've had to eat is drinking an entire pitcher of Five Alive tropical because everything else disgusts me. I tried some rice pudding that my Mom made especially for me, got about two teaspoons down.
Wednesday morning, 9:35am. Realization that I'm too weak to go to class. My hands and face feel kind of papery. The thought of food disgusts me beyond reason, and I begin to worry about how I'm going to start eating again.
Wednesday, 12:34pm. I sigh as I realize exactly how far behind missing three classes puts me.
Wednesday, 4:35... I have a one slice of bread sandwich with turkey filling that I normally love. I had to force myself to eat it, but it went down. The aftermath of this attempt at becoming human again is unknown. I am feeling mediocrely bad, but not like I'm in danger of giving up the food I just ate.
So that's an account of my misery. Questions, comments, concerns...
I am continuing to roil inside on the way home, and for the remainder of the night I am unable to sleep for more than an hour at a time without hitting the washroom, since it's coming out both ways. I have mentioned on LJ before that hacking/throwing up is my least favourite kind of sick - excuse the irony. It has something to do with how close it is to suffocation, I think, and how little control one has.
Insert countless hours of misery. Tuesday, 5am. I am heartily conscious that I'm not hitting class today. I try to call my Mom, but I can't raise my voice above normal talking volume and she can't hear me for a while. Finally, she passes my door and I get her attention, asking her to bring my Sculpture project in so she can hand it in for me on time. My prof is a bit of a nazi about handing stuff in, which is fair enough. I wasn't about to go get a doctor's note though. Way too much energy.
Tuesday passes. I can't eat. I spend the day similar to the night, except not throwing up.
Tuesday night, 12am-3am. I read a book that seems to be intended as a moral lesson, yet without reason or morality - it's called Affair in Palestine and I don't recommend it. Still in pain, and the most I've had to eat is drinking an entire pitcher of Five Alive tropical because everything else disgusts me. I tried some rice pudding that my Mom made especially for me, got about two teaspoons down.
Wednesday morning, 9:35am. Realization that I'm too weak to go to class. My hands and face feel kind of papery. The thought of food disgusts me beyond reason, and I begin to worry about how I'm going to start eating again.
Wednesday, 12:34pm. I sigh as I realize exactly how far behind missing three classes puts me.
Wednesday, 4:35... I have a one slice of bread sandwich with turkey filling that I normally love. I had to force myself to eat it, but it went down. The aftermath of this attempt at becoming human again is unknown. I am feeling mediocrely bad, but not like I'm in danger of giving up the food I just ate.
So that's an account of my misery. Questions, comments, concerns...
