Warning: this post dramatically (but accurately) recalls my illness.
Wednesday night, I went to dinner with my parents to celebrate Obama. I ordered a salad. 2 hours later, in the middle of a movie we were watching, my stomach started hurting. When I got home, it hurt more and more. At 3:37 am, I found myself half-lucid on the bathroom floor–on which I had perched myself since 11pm–finally free from the 4 hour vomiting session that ensued.
I threw up about 4 times every 10 minutes for 3.5 hours. After the first hour, I had no food in my stomach so it felt like I was just voiding my insides of all matter. I thought I would throw up a lung or a rib or something.
It was violent. It was traumatic. My mom, bless her heart for staying up as long as she could with me, is still amazed. She had never seen anything like what I was experiencing before. We were *this* close to going to l’hôpital.
My body, for the last few weeks, has refused to let me sleep past 7:30. I woke up at 6:58 Thursday morning. That night, I went to sleep at 3:45ish and woke up at 7.
By Friday morning, I had slept for 6 hours in two nights. I was dead. Not to mention, my body started to remind me of all the intense heaving and muscle contracting I had been doing. My esophagus aches. My chest and my back hurt. I have bruises on my knees. Laughing causes pain. Breathing deeply and sighing are a chore. Even my eyes feel heavy.
I don’t write this for shock value or to elicit sympathy. I am just truly amazed by what one tiny little salad did to my body and I wanted to recount the experience.
Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll be eating salad again for a very long time, which is a shame because I really like it.