By Cazey Williams
Disclaimer: Graphic bodily processes mentioned below.
On a recent Saturday I awoke in the middle of the night and realized something was wrong. I hadn’t felt this way since high school. Hours later, I vomited. So began a day of delirium.
7 AM. *throws up* Okay, three hours until yoga class. I can sleep this off until then. There is so much I need to accomplish today.
8:10 AM. *throws up again* We’re not joking around here. I think I’m sick.
8:55 AM. Why don’t we have toilets where we can lay down while using them? I don’t have the energy to sit up.
8:56 AM. I would die if I had Ebola. I’ve always been fascinated with Ebola, and I have daydreamed occasionally about what I would do if I had Ebola. Currently realizing, Well, I would just give up. There is no hope.
8:57 AM. I have no energy to stand. I am literally too weak to pee while standing. You are never so helpless as when you end up on your knees clutching a toilet bowl.
9:10 AM. I need fluids in me. Let’s see, I don’t keep any soda in my house, not even diet soda. I have reduced sugar apple juice (30 calories) and Crystal Lite (5 calories).
9:45 AM. This apple juice isn’t cutting it. I really want blue Gatorade, but if I can’t stand up while peeing, then I certainly am not making it out of this house. And I previously learned that no one delivers Gatorade when a friend told me of their fruitless attempts to secure Gatorade during a New Year’s Day hangover.
10:15 AM. I text my friends. I downplay the whole vomit/diarrhea/I-can’t-move part. Just “I feel really bad asking, but if you’re home, do you have Gatorade?” I think I would have rather asked the girl I was messaging on OkCupid than admit, “I AM DYING, SOS.” I should work on this.
10:30 AM. No one has responded. Maybe I can boil sugar and salt in a pot of water on the stove? Would that amp up my electrolytes?
10:50 AM. I am going to die in this apartment. Drastic measures need to be taken.
10:51 AM. OMG, Jimmy John’s delivers! And they have sodas! From my bed, I online order two Sprites with a 50% tip.
10:53 AM. Saint Jimmy John’s calls: “Hi, we were just checking that all you wanted is Sprite…?” YES, PLEASE HURRY.
10:59 AM. Sprite arrives.
11:01 AM. I can feel the sugar in my blood. Is this what it feels like to be diabetic?
11:30 AM. My friend calls me to ask what’s up. She was running a half-marathon during my Gatorade crisis.
Noon. Why do we call it the flu? Growing up, I called any throwing up spell “the flu,” but this is a misleading name. People keep acting like I’m dying and asking if I want Tamiflu before I depart this world. No, this is not 1918, and where are the ginger ale offers?
1 PM. The flu is a very nostalgic experience. If you can call flashbacks to being nauseated on your parents’ couch in sixth grade nostalgia. But my parents would have made me soup. And my dad would have brought me ice cream while my mom argued that while I might want it, that is the last thing my stomach needs.
2 PM. I need to let my friend’s dog out. My friend is at a wine expo, so I can’t cancel this commitment I made pre-flu. The pooch has gotta pee, flu or no flu.
2:10 PM. I need to take a nap first.
3 PM. I drive the five blocks to my friend’s house.
3:20 PM. I am revitalized. I drive to 7-Eleven and get two blue Gatorades. I come home, pick up the clothes strewn across my room, and start doing laundry. I sit down to do homework.
4 PM. Laundry is done. Homework is not done. I can’t find the energy to walk to washer and put clothes in the dryer. A second wind doesn’t mean you’re sailing to Spain.
6 PM. How much weight have I lost? All I’ve consumed today is apple juice, a Sprite, half a Gatorade, and the tip of a banana. Are my muscles wasting away? Then again, I had a pooch last night when I went to bed.
6:10 PM. Will I ever want quesadillas again? That was the last thing I ate before I expelled everything. OMG, the thought of quesadillas makes me want to upchuck. What hath I wrought?!
7 PM. Hunger returns. What do I eat? Toast? Well, I don’t have a toaster, and I also only have extra fiber English Muffins in my possession. What I really want is cereal, but you aren’t supposed to have milk when you have the flu. But I want cereal, and I’m hungry. I include a banana to soothe the assault. “The stomach wants what it wants.” – Selena Gomez
7:30 PM. Why the hell did I eat cereal?
7:45 PM. Why is everything on social media about pizza?! Instagrams of greasy cheesy, Snapchats of pizza boxes, tweets about ordering pizza. I’m going to hurl.
8 PM. Can I get an extension on my project due Monday? Minus the fact I’ve had two weeks to work on the project. But I was planning on doing it today…. I am going to need coffee to finish that project tomorrow. But can my stomach handle that?
8:30 PM. Zzzzzzzzzz.