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A fresh wave of nausea wakes me from my slumber, and I rush over to the bathroom. Bloody hell! What a crappy feeling! Eventually, once my stomach is completely empty, I move into the dry heaving phase. Ugh! Kill me now!
The sound of my cell phone ringing somewhere in the distance pulls me from my pity party for one. I rummage through my bag until I find it, then answer.
“Hello.”
“Oh, my goodness. What’s wrong, hon? You sound awful.”
“Hey, Mom. Yup, I think I may have lost my internal organs through my mouth.”
“Oh, darling. Tummy bug?”
“From hell.”
“I’ll come right over and make some of my famous chicken soup. That will fix you right up.”
“Oh, no, please don’t talk about food,” I groan. My stomach is nice and empty.”
“I’m coming anyway. See you soon.”
Good old mom. There’s no malady she cannot cure with soup. Not that I’m complaining. She’s a fabulous cook. It remains to be seen, though, if I can keep down whatever she’s planning on serving up.
I fall asleep again while I’m waiting for her. The doorbell wakes me up.
“Hey, Mom,” I say when I open the door.
“Wow! That bug’s got ya good, huh?”
“Sure has. Come in.”
“You go and take a nap, sweetheart, while I get the cauldron brewing.”
“No, that’s alright. I think I’ve slept enough. I’ll drape myself over the sofa while you cook.”
Mom puts down the paper bag she brought with her onto the open plan kitchen counter while I plop down on the sofa.
“Are you taking in enough fluids, my love?”
“Not faster than I can expel it, I’m afraid.”
“Do you have a fever?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Good. Here,” she says and hands me a glass with an opaque liquid inside it, “home made ginger beer.”
“I don’t know if this is a good idea, but I’ll try. Thanks, Mom.”
“Ginger is good for nausea. You’ll feel better soon, I promise.”
“How long have you felt this way?”
“It’s been almost a week now. I must say, I’m over it.”
“A week? Sounds serious. Have you been to the doctor? Tummy bugs shouldn’t last that long.”
“Did you forget where I work? Who knows what kind of superbugs people drag in there off the streets? I’m sure it will pass soon enough. The good news is that I’m one vomit away from my goal weight,” I chuckle.
“Oh, rubbish. You’ll fall through your own backside if you lose any weight. You’re perfect.”