I went to the ER last night because the advice nurse told me to go within the hour - apparently shortness of breath with chills and sweats is the reason to make the trip and NOT the EIGHT hours of diarrhea. They gave me anti-nausea pills (which i heard works miracles for hangovers, so i'll be saving these, thank you very much!) and some immodium. The doctor said, "despite the philosophy of getting rid of bacteria through diarrhea, you have to live." I didn't know getting rid of bacteria had any sort of philosophical backbone, but whatever. They gave me three glasses of water to see if I could hold it down - cool experimento! I felt nauseous, sitting in that cold hospital room. After 45 minutes of no results minus an unhappy me, they let me go. I started to feel pretty gross in the cab. Worse when I looked up at the three flights of stairs that would inevitably be my doom because as soon as I made it up to the apartment I vomited those three goddamn glasses of water in the garbage can!
Priceless moment. Jack: "Soooo, sweetie, what should I do with the garbage can?"
Me: "Oh, uhhh, yeah. sorry you have to deal with that. Do whatever - throw the whole thing out if you want."
Jack: "How 'bout this. I'll put it outside on the balcony." Jack comes into room, walking towards balcony, holding garbage can away from his face, exclaimng, "OH GOD, JESUS! IT'S SO HEAVY!"
I've learned today that my dad also has diarrhea and my mom has a fever. We lived our faces off, from some wars in Korea, to a little nephew that hopefully doesn't have too much of our genes, to a pretty sweet bourbon collection. And now we are off, succumbing to our deteriorating bodies as we go quietly, not with a bang but a whimper.
