It started at 1 a.m. on Monday. I stumbled toward what I thought would be the kind of routine middle of the night bathroom trip that is common among chronically well-hydrated people. However, as I inspected my tired reflection in the mirror, I was overcome with that "I don't feel so good" feeling and the realization that my dinner was not sitting rather strangely in my digestive tract.
I went back to bed and proceeded to spend the next two hours writhing in pain that started in my abdomen, moved to my chest and back, and then radiated through the rest of my body. This was not the situation I wanted to be in just a few hours before I was scheduled to depart on the 12.5 hour drive back to Indiana.
After two hours of writhing and looking through the kitchen in vain for something to ease my discomfort, the offending food, bacteria, or virus, I not sure which, began to make it's way out of my body in the most unpleasant manner. This required spending two more cold, boring hours in the bathroom, after which I finally slept for a short time before getting up and announcing to my parents that I might or might not be making the trip back to Indiana that day, but I that I would definitely not be making my planned 7:30 departure. Somehow, they had managed to sleep through the ordeal, despite my complete lack of effort to be quiet. I was somewhat disappointed that on one of the rare nights that my mommy was in close enough proximity to take care of me when I was sick, that I wasn't successful in waking her up to do so. For the record, I did stop short of yelling for her like I did when I was a kid, which did seem a little over-the-top for someone my age.
So I slept another two hours and then decided that I needed to suck it up and make my weak, wobbly way home, since I was supposed to be at work on Tuesday and the forecast was much better for a Monday departure. So I began the long journey at 9 a.m. central time, and made it the whole way on a cup of jello, a few crackers, and some tea. This lack of nutrition didn't help my focus any, and the trip back home was a hard one.
I finally made it home at 10:30 p.m. eastern time and it took me a while to get greet my husband and cats, get unpacked, get reoriented to my house, and take a shower. I managed to get everything put away, except for a few items of street clothing that weren't dirty enough to go in the hamper. All and all, I finally made it to bed at 1:00 a.m., weak and spacey, but proud that I had managed to get through my 24 hour ordeal in one piece.
I feel about 80% normal today, since I slept until 8:00 and didn't go to work until 10:30. I managed to eat my normal breakfast, although a half-size portion. I didn't make me feel sick, but it didn't really make me feel better, either. I still don't have much of an appetite, but I'm not sure that's really a bad thing this time of year.