Blowing Chunks Into My Polyester Hair

I made it one third of the way into work on Tuesday morning. First of all, I woke up not feeling quite right. My stomach felt as though it had a huge knot in it. I felt, in general, "off." I figured my less-than-ideal dinner hadn't really settled well, and that things would work themselves out. I finished my morning routine and hoped for the best. Off I went. Once on the train, I settled into my usual seat, and prayed that I would be able to hold everything together. About half way through the trip I gained a seatmate. As soon as this poor, unsuspecting woman sat down next to me I tossed my cookies right onto the floor without warning. I apologized and she hurriedly moved to a different seat. The man across the aisle from me handed me a wad of paper napkins. He was completely grossed out and who could blame him?!

So I sat there waiting for the conductor to come by so I could tell him what had happened. He brought me a wad of paper towels, wet naps, and some cold water to drink. He was so sweet; he made sure I knew that he didn't expect me to clean up the floor. He just wanted me to get cleaned up, and to have a cool drink so I'd feel better.

I detrained with everyone else at Union Station, took the opportunity to call in sick (thus abandoning my post as PSR back up guru), and turned back toward home, where I spent the day tossing my cookies with great regularity.

The plot thickens.

Sarahbina, after a morning of looking after me, began to experience my same symptoms. I know I'm melodramatic, but I fully expected us both to die. Between the chills, yet being so hot, the stomach cramps that lasted for five minutes at a time, and the complete inability to move around without exerting full effort was enough to do anyone in. I called people who would not mind doing so, and asked them to pray.

Sarahbina called up Michael at about 4 a.m. to go and get her some things from the pharmacy, which he did.

I left Mr. Renaissance a voicemail message about our illness on his cell (sounding sufficiently pathetic, I'm sure). He got it the next morning and called to check on me. We talked for a few minutes about how I was feeling better, and how pet/housesitting for his parents has made him morbidly introspective, and how much he's looking forward to resuming his normal life.

Pretty stellar.