“I got food poisoning today. I don’t know when I’ll use it.” ~ unknown
I have never been one for posting every mood swing or personal health blip on facebook for the entire community to see. It may not be that I am so self-involved that I want to put my friends through that misery of eye glazing numbness, but that everyone has up and down days so why waste wall space posting ordinary daily occurrences. Yesterday was a day of epic proportions health wise and, even though I still won’t post my hurling adventure on facebook, I can blog about it here since it was not only very painful but delightfully colorful and could have resulted in a modern art canvas or two if I had known what was about to occur. Imagine here refrigerated art or a canvas coated in polyurethane to preserve its creativeness, spontaneity and texture.
Yesterday was St. Patty’s Day and while others were indulging in green beer, Irish soda bread and lamb stew I was enjoying a late lunch with my dear husband at a sushi bistro we were, up until yesterday, quite fond of. Yes, I broke my own personal mandate that “why eat out when we can eat better, cheaper and without table manners at home?” In the future, I will follow yet another simple rule: never ask a waitress which dish would be a better choice as I am very confident that they are all under pressure to push diners towards menu items well past their sell by date. You know, that old restaurant accounting principle FILO (first in, last out).
The days of chili beans stuck on trowel textured walls after an evening of drink are well past me and, try as I might, I cannot pull up from my memory bank the last time I spent the evening vomiting copiously while riding the porcelain bus, or, in this case, the porcelain Bullet Train. St. Patty’s day will now and forever more hold a special dark spot in my heart as the day I lived through the greatest bout of food poisoning ever – or, at least the greatest bout of food poisoning ever recorded in my own personal record book of life. The human body is a beautiful piece of engineering and I learned yesterday just how fastidiously capable it was of expelling, down to the last little teeny tiny grain of rice, food that really wasn’t supposed to be ingested. Think five hours of the heaves here with a bit of expulsion at the bottom end and a face so swollen and red from regurgitating that even now, much later, my puffy eyes won’t focus properly even with my glasses on. The entire episode was like clockwork – run to the bathroom, rinse, sip, sit down for twenty minutes or so and then run back to the bathroom to begin the cycle again, continuously, for five hours. And all this going on while shivering from cold even though it’s around 80 degrees here in Houston. The good news is, well, there just isn’t any. I should have indulged in green beer and Irish soda bread instead of breaking with tradition and having sushi on St. Pats day.
It’s now, as I finish writing this, 3:00 am and I can tell I will be functioning in a different time zone for the remainder of the weekend. Just think, if my son lived in Guam I could call him right now and I could talk to him mid-afternoon (the normal weekend getting out of bed time for him). Or, I could call and surprise my daughter who lives five hours behind us in Honolulu. Either way I can turn this into a win win situation. So far, I joyfully consider this a win win situation just for surviving my food poisoning adventure and, as every woman knows, there is a silver lining somewhere. For me it was getting on the scale and having it read two pounds down. I think it should have been at least five.
My stomach aches just from looking at this……..