I hate throwing up.
I'll do anything I can to avoid it.
So when my stomach started majorly hurting the other night, I wouldn't allow it to happen. Tom always tells me, "Just puke! You'll feel better!" Maybe. But I cannot stand the feeling. I usually start crying hysterically as soon as it happens.
It was horrible though. I kept waking up all throughout the night. My stomach would lurch. I'd take deep breaths, willing the pain away. I could only sleep on my back. If I tried to move to my side, I would immediately feel awful. I was hoping I'd feel better when I woke up in the morning.
I had to stumble in and get Tommy up. I basically sat on the couch, dead to the world. Tommy was like, "Don't get me sick."
The entire morning was a blur. I remember getting Natalie cereal. I brushed her hair, but not very well, so she went to school looking frightening. I walked her to school hoping the fresh air would make me feel better. Also, I wanted steps on my Fitbit so my Mom didn't think I was dead when she checked it.
The fresh air didn't help. I wanted to crawl the last few steps home.
I never had a fever. It was just a stomachache. I wasn't able to eat, which made me sad, because I love to eat.
When Tommy came back from school he asked if I had Ebola. I said no, but thank you for the concern. He would not let me touch him. "I can't have your germs. Sorry," he'd say.
Dinner was nuggets nuked in the microwave because I wasn't able to stand upright long enough to prepare something better.
It was not a fun day.
But you'll be pleased to know that I'm doing much better now. I can eat again. Now I just hope that the kids don't get sick.