Worse Days

I've got a bad case of food poisoning.  The worst I've ever had.  I'm not 100% positive in my diagnosis, but I'm the only one with it and I can't figure out what else it would be.  I had some pretty rare steak at a restaurant last weekend (I didn't ask for it rare) and by the time I realized just how rare it was I was two-thirds of the way through the steak and figured all I could do was tell the waitress that for medium-well done my steak was very rare.  I made a side comment about food poisoning to Dax, but he wasn't worried about it, and because I wasn't sick, neither was I.  I discovered through research that it is actually fairly common to get symptoms of food poisoning from undercooked meat nearly a week after eating it.

Fair warning, the rest of this post is personal and a little graphic.  I document it to remember that "there have been worse days."  I don't need it to be read for pity.

Yesterday I felt nauseous and tired from the start of the day, which was odd because my nausea/vomiting/lack of energy has been confined to the mid-afternoon and evenings for over a week.  I thought working on the rocks outside would help me feel better, but after an hour I came in feeling worse.  I started my steady relationship with the porcelain bowl at 2 o'clock, and spent the rest of the day evenly divided between there and my bed.  Hayden usually comes in while I am over the toilet and says, "Mom, you are sick because of the baby?"  I told him this time was different, I was sick from food.  My poor kids were neglected until Dad came home at a quarter to six.  I couldn't even get up to spend any time with them, because it would send me right back to the bathroom.  I didn't realize it wasn't morning sickness until the third go around when my body would not stop trying to squeeze out every single drop in its digestive tract.  Eventually my body only had bile to get rid of. 

As I climbed back in bed, I could hear the sounds of my family downstairs.  Dax was making dinner and chatting with the kids.  He was humming "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" and "Joy to the World."  I never want to forget that.  Dax did the dishes and got the kids ready for bed.  While he was helping Hayden, Kyra came and started knocking on my bedroom door, and kept trying to turn the knob.  She eventually started crying and pounding as hard as her little fists could pound.  I laid in my bed, my heart breaking, listening to her little sounds at the door.  If I got up, I would only make it as far as the bathroom.  I kept hoping that the worst was over and that I would feel better in the morning.

Today I do feel a little better.  I braved some toast and watered-down apple juice.  I still feel nauseous, but it doesn't feel so intense, and my stomach doesn't hurt nearly as badly.  I've been getting impatient lately with my nausea and vomiting, wanting so badly for it to be over.  I think the Lord told me through this experience to be grateful that I have been getting half the day where I feel good.  I could be extremely sick all day, every day.  Still, I will be grateful for the day that my husband sees me when I feel good.  By the time he gets home every day I am already sick, and can't wait for the minute I can climb in bed to escape it.  He feels like the bed has half of my heart these days.  Even though he can't tell from my actions at present, every day that he silently goes through, carrying much more than his fair share of the load, I come to love him more deeply.  I intend to make it all up to him by spending every evening doing whatever he wants, when I get to the point where I can stay up past 7:30. :)