I have been sick. Very sick. Probably the sickest I can ever remember being. (Warning: TMI coming right up.)
It started late Sunday night. Doc and I rented a movie (Valentine's Day...meh) and were settled in on the couch watching it. With about 30 minutes or less left in the movie, I realized I needed to use the restroom. But rather than getting up and going then, I waited for the movie to finish. Upstairs in the bathroom, I went about my business and everything was fine. Doc and I both ironed our clothes for work on Monday and got in bed.
Less than an hour of being in bed, I had to get up for another bathroom break. A few minutes later I was back in bed but feeling like that probably wasn't going to be my last bathroom break of the night. Sure enough, I was up and at 'em again about 15 minutes later. By this point, my stomach was really hurting and I could tell it was going to be a long night. I quietly grabbed my phone and pillow and headed downstairs to the couch. I didn't want to bother Doc since I knew he had a full work day ahead of him on Monday.
Downstairs, I got Minnie out of her kennel and let her lay on the couch with me (I knew she'd just bark if I didn't). I closed the blinds, grabbed a few throw blankets, positioned my pillow, and got settled in. About 5 minutes later I found myself sprinting to the bathroom. Afterwards, I headed to the kitchen and searched our medicine cabinets for something to take. I found a bottle of Maalox, read the instructions, and took two heaping teaspoons.
The Maalox didn't get a chance to work. Minutes after swallowing it I was hovering over the toilet, throwing it all up. It was bad. I hate throw up. HATE it. As in, it makes me scared to have kids because they might do that and I'm the one that would have to deal with it. When I throw up (which is not very often, I'll do anything in my power to keep it from coming up) it always makes me cry. That's how much I hate it.
When I finally felt like I could leave the bathroom, I made my way back to the couch, picked up my phone, and called Doc. He was very disoriented when he woke up. Why was I calling him and why wasn't I in bed? Between tears, I asked if he could come downstairs. By this time it was 11:42 pm.
Doc came downstairs and calmed me down. I took sips of gatorade and he covered me up in blankets. I told him I would be ok and he could go back to bed.
About an hour later I was running to the bathroom again. More throw up. More tears. Got up and called Doc again and he came back down. By this time I felt awful. I couldn't lie still and I couldn't hold my head up. Everything hurt.
At 2:00 am I called my mom to see if she had any medicine. She said she did and Doc met my dad halfway to get it. The medicine was over five years old and probably expired, but my body didn't let me keep it in long enough to see if it would even help.
The pattern repeated all night long. Run to bathroom, throw up. Sit there sweating until I can stand up. Immediately need to use the bathroom. Make my way back to couch. Sip of gatorade. Just as I start to doze off, jump up from couch and start over.
Doc went upstairs to bed at 2:50 and didn't come back down until 6. I told him I'd been at it all night. He could tell I hadn't had any sleep. He wanted to take me to the hospital but I said I didn't have the energy to go anywhere. I was well on my way to becoming dehydrated. Still using the bathroom but now only dry heaving since my stomach was empty.
I asked him to just try to get a prescription called in for me. He left a message for the on-call nurse practitioner from the clinic I use. The practitioner didn't call him back until 7:45. Finally, sometime after 8, a prescription was called. Doc went to pick it up and was home by 9:15. He gave me two pills - as he described them: one for the ups and one for the downs.
The pills knocked me out cold. I was glad, since I'd had zero sleep during the night. My mom and Doc both called all day long to check on me. My new routine became answer phone, talk for a minute, take sip of water, fall back asleep. I didn't get out of the bed until 5:15 that evening, and that was just to move to the couch so Doc could wash the sheets.
I was back in bed around 9 Monday night. I still felt exhausted and slept through the night even though I'd slept all day. Today I woke up sore all over. Everything hurts - my stomach muscles, my back, my head. I tried to get up for work but it hurt too much to stand up straight. I took more medicine and fell back to sleep. At lunch, Doc came home to check on me. He gave me a heating pad and told me to alternate it between my back and my stomach. It has helped a lot and I'm starting to feel much better.
Doc lived up to his nickname and has doctored me back to health. I don't know where I'd be without him! Thanks, Doc, for staying up with me, lysol-ing the whole house, cleaning the sheets, making me peanut butter sandwiches, taking care of Minnie, and everything else you've done the last 48 hours. I love you!
