I am writing this article knowing the possibility it could be my last before my untimely death. Please pardon any spelling or grammatical errors as I wait for my saintly husband to come home from work and bring me to the hospital to get an IV and hopefully some demerol.
I hate needles with a passion. Most people aren’t really a fan of them, but I loathe them. I actually have to take a large dose of valium before getting injections just so I’m calm enough. And yes, I realize I am almost 30 years old. Stop laughing.
But as I lay in my bed, right now, holed off in my dark bedroom, I’m caring less and less about those needles because I just want relief from this horrid, satanic illness.
Unless you’ve ever had norovirus, you have no idea what I’m talking about. Most people have had the “stomach flu.” I’ve had the stomach flu before many times. Well, norovirus is no ordinary stomach flu. Lucifer himself actually created this illness. Picture the stomach flu multiplied by 1,000. Once you have that in your head, smash yourself in the face a few times with a hammer and then go eat a pork roast that’s been hanging out in 100 degree weather. THAT’S norovirus.
So, here I am, sweaty, shivering, achy as all Hell, and…ummm….finding myself having to “relieve myself” from both ends. EVERY 5-10 MINUTES. No, I’m not exaggerating whatsoever. I woke up today around 3 am and haven’t stopped since–it’s now 2:30 pm–with the exception of about 45 minutes where I was able to drift off to sleep.
I have Gatorade which I’m not able to keep down at all. I’ve managed to keep down at least some ginger ale. No food whatsoever. The thought of it is just awful.
I NEED to go to the hospital, which is literally about a minute down the street; however, while I can bring a barf bucket, I’m worried I will actually soil myself on the way there. So, I’m apprehensive, to say the least. Because I blatantly refuse to soil myself in public. Not until I’m at least 80.
So…that was my day! Hope yours was better!