Yesterday we went to The Big City and it was so hot when I opened the door I was afraid my face melted. Stella told us it was 110 degrees outside – and I believe it!
It brought to mind the story of my old hamster and I really want to tell you all about it, complete with necessary exagerations and perhaps even a rhyme or two…
… but my stomach is killing me and I’m afraid I’m suffering from food poisoning.
So instead of giving you the rundown on the rodent I’m going to take the easy way out and let you read about my last bout with food poisoning. I saw the final insurance bills just this morning and I can assure you that nasty, gross little pea I ate in January was actually worth just under $7,000.
Here’s the rest of the story:
A Trip! (written January 18, 2011)
Now, I know it’s out of character for me to be a braggart and all… And I really don’t want you to be jealous or overcome with the green-eyed monster… But…
I spent two days this weekend in a very pricey, full-service establishment! Lizard spontaneously took me there on Saturday night and I didn’t come home until yesterday!
While I was there I had room service for every single meal, the décor was specifically chosen for a restful experience, I had a gal committed to coming the my door at the push of a button, and the bed was completely adjustable so I was able to raise and lower my head and feet at a whim!
What an experience!
As amazing as it was, I found my critical nature rearing its ugly head.
If you are by chance confused, the reality of my weekend is that it appears I poisoned myself.
I ate about a tablespoon of sour cream and veggie dip from the refrigerator and started feeling funny about an hour later. Then I started – ahem – losing fluids quickly (I counted 13 episodes of vomiting in one hour when I was still counting). Four hours into this gastrointestinal disaster (after collapsing into a puddle on the bathroom floor without enough strength to lift my head to the toilet to vomit) Lizard carried me from the house to the car and then to the Emergency Room.
In retrospect I know I was delirious by the time we made it to the ER because not only could I not walk (my muscles were cramping), in order to relieve the muscle cramps I was determined to lay down, wallowing on the floor of the ER triage. I can only imagine the number of germs that were on that floor and would only have touched it if I was out of my head!
Much drama ensued in which my veins were too small to get an IV going, they had to use a catheter to give me a pregnancy test, I threw up on the X-Ray technician, my blood pressure dropped below 50, my kidneys began to fail, and I told my husband that the IV bag was doing ballet (with a partner IV bag) and it was quite graceful and that the ceiling was moving like the waves of the ocean.
I’m happy to report that I’m not pregnant. And I’m not dead. Barely.
But since coming home I have thrown everything in my refrigerator that has been there longer than about four days away. Which means that the ice cream toppings that have been there for two years had to go. And the gout juice left by a visitor.
I’m eying the salsa jars suspiciously.
After my stint in the hospital I came home to the discovery that my dear sweet little ruffians had done their best to provide a welcome home celebration. That included taking every article of clothing from their closet and the clean laundry pile and strewing it on the floor of their bedroom so that they could choose the perfect outfits.
Oh! And while I was gone Lizard found a miniature barrette in Tres’s diaper after it completed its own gastrointestinal journey. It used to be orange.
The hero of the episode was my husband who managed many, many details in order to make sure I received supervised care! I have married a good, good man. I’ve married a man who figuratively saved my life when he chose me as his partner, but now has actually saved me from death’s door!
But I can’t let his head get too big, so, to Lizard, my charming husband, here are some items to consider if this ever happens again:
- Please choose a location for our quiet vacation that does not include the words “Medical Center” in it’s title. “Hilton,” “Doubletree,” or “Hyatt” are preferable.
- Give me some warning. Truthfully, four hours is not enough time to adequately prepare for time away from home. I didn’t pack a thing – not even a hairbrush. I’d really like to look my best at all times. For you, of course!
- If we’re going to have room service, I’d like steak. Medium rare. And cheesecake. Getting a full tray of food and uncovering it to discover chicken broth was disappointing. And there is just no way to adequately dress up rice and bread. I’m pretty sure those meals were not a good bargain.
- While I loved the individual attention, I do wish you would put in a request for a massage rather than manhandling and having my blood drawn regularly. My arms are now covered in bruises and what do I have to show for it, hm??? Not a chance I can wear a sleeveless shirt.
- Finally, I do not appreciate it that the doctor who told me I had to stay an extra day was actually an actor named Rico Suave from General Hospital. If you want one-on-one time with your children you can just ask for it instead of bribing a native Spanish-speaking 30-something to keep me corralled.
I am on bedrest until Monday. Which means that today I went to Taco Bell and Wal-Mart and felt like I had been hit by a Mack truck. And yet, somehow, I find myself still awake at 11:30 p.m. because I’ve been working.
Have you ever had a near-death sickness? How long did it take you to recover?