Monday, July 21, 2014

How To Ruin Your Husband's Weekend

This past weekend was not a fun weekend. It all started last Thursday evening after a delicious dinner of homemade pasta & homemade marinara with a side of arugula. As soon as I finished eating, I felt sick. I decided to ignore it. Maybe it would go away. So I ate the ice cream SP gave me. By 10 pm I felt lousy. My stomach started cramping and gurgling, the cramping & gurgling of serious digestive distress, the kind of distress that does nothing but cramp and spasm and leave me in pain for a week or so. I kept slumping lower and lower in the rocking chair. I couldn't concentrate on TV. I was hot. I was cold. Rub my back. Don't touch me. Talk to me. Don't talk to me. I don't feel well. Gah!

We got ready for bed. I took some Advil. I felt so awful that before going in the bedroom, I got a plastic container from the kitchen to keep next to me in the bedroom. SP looked at me and asked why I had a plastic container on my nightstand and I said,"Barf bin." "But you never barf." "I know. But I feel sick. Just in case. If it's here, I'll be fine. If it's not here, I'll need it." "Do you want a real bucket?" "Nope."

Ten minutes later I gave up trying to sleep in bed because the cramp/spasms were so awful. SP helped me relocate to my recliner in the living room, just like last summer when I slept in it every night for 3 months because of my hip. He got me set up with a pillow, blanket, water, Advil, barf bin - everything nearby. It was near 1:30 am and we finally went back to bed. As soon as I turned out the light, I had to turn it back on and grab the barf bin. Yup. Barfing ensued.

So SP came back out and patiently waited, helped me clean up, helped me settle back in, and then he headed off to bed, for the third time. Meanwhile, I was clutching my stomach, throwing the blanket off and on, turning the heating pad on, then off, then on, sitting up, then reclining, then sitting. I decided to take 2 more Advil and decided I'd better get in the wheelchair and head towards the bathroom. Just in case. Before I got to the bathroom, it hit me again.

I eventually made it to the bathroom. SP came to check on me. At 4:30 am when I was still in the bathroom, still barfing, SP decided to search every inch of the house to verify that we had no anti-barf medicine. So he headed down the hill to GEMD. Turns out, GEMD is closed from midnight to 6:30 am. So he drove to Walmart. I can only imagine the cursing. He despises Walmart. By 5:10 am he was home and I took my first dose of Pepto. He went back to bed. I stayed in the bathroom, sweating and shaking, and proceeded to barf up the Pepto. Can't miss that pink color.

I was in the bathroom until 7 am, sweating, shaking, having goosebumps, moaning from the cramps, and puking every 20-30 minutes.

I have not thrown up since overindulging in alcohol back in college 20+ years ago.

Around 8:30 am, SP came into the living room. We both knew what I was going to say. But I felt awful asking. "Hubby, I love you and I know it's work Kennywood Day and I know you really want to go but I don't think I'm done barfing and I haven't slept at all and I'm really drained and I'm afraid to be alone. Last time I was left alone when weak I fell and broke and my hip."

"I know. I'll take a sick day. I'm going back to bed but in a bit I'll go get some ginger ale and crackers and bread."

He tried to go get that stuff - but somehow between 5 am and 1 pm the car battery died. So he had to call his mom to drive him to get a new car battery, come home, replace the battery, and head to Walmart. Again.

I started to move from my recliner to the bathroom as he was waiting for his mom, saying that I wanted a shower because I could smell myself. "Awww my cute wife doesn't smell." Leans over for a playful sniff. Backs away. Stammers. "Uh, OK, yeah, you're a little ripe. Just be careful."

The rest of Friday was me, comatose in the recliner, occasionally sipping ginger ale or trying a saltine.

The next day, a rainy Saturday morning, he had to get up early and take the car in for inspection. He ended up spending 4 hours there because it wouldn't pass inspection without something being replaced (supposedly some kind of regular maintenance thing, but sometimes I wonder).

It also meant he walked from the car dealer, along Rte 19 in the rain, to grab an Egg McMuffin at McDonald's because he was hungry. I have never seen SP eat anything from McDonald's.

Then he had to cancel our reservation at Spoon because I could barely move and still couldn't eat anything without bringing on another round of intensely painful cramping.

At least we got to binge watch season 2 of Orphan Black. By Sunday I 'graduated' to eating a banana for breakfast and for dinner, a piece of breaded chicken, a few spoonfuls of rice, and 6 green beans.

I'm still not feeling great. I still have the horrible cramps and am bloated and sore. I'm still eating only small amounts at a time, like half a grilled cheese for lunch. Hopefully this will pass soon. But it's Day 4 and the pain is still pretty bad. I have no idea what triggered this bout - I haven't had one of these episodes since January 2013.

So, let's sum up SP's weekend: No sleep Thursday night. Cleaned up puke. Smelly wife. Crabby, sick wife. Missed out on Kennywood Day. Went to Walmart twice, once at 4:30 am. Dead car battery. 4 hours at car inspection. Had to walk in the rain along a busy road for McDonald's food. No nice dinner out. And then yard work and laundry on Sunday. Isn't he lucky?!!

On the bright side: I barfed so much that I lost my voice and couldn't talk above a whisper until Sunday evening, so he didn't have to listen to or talk to his wife.

Earlier today I went though the refrigerator and tossed everything over a week old and checked dates on all the bottled stuff. I have no idea what triggered this, but anything close to expiration date or over a week old (like the celery) got tossed.

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