Oh, dear reader. What a nightmarish 24 hours this has been. Truly, a dark night of the stomach.
It started yesterday morning when I was feeling a little … off. I have a weird stomach by nature – a touch of lactose intolerance and general grumblings if the food is too rich. Breakfast should not have elicited any complaints, though. Toast, fruit and orange juice is pretty safe territory. But, I just kept feeling queasy and bloated.
By the afternoon, things were not looking good. Bending down would bring waves of nausea and I soon realized that there was something very not right in the alimentary canal. Stomach cramps were visiting far too often for comfort and making me generally miserable. I signed off from work, climbed into bed and did my best impression of a mummy. I felt better in bed, but had to get up around 6pm. I soon learned that moving around was not a good idea.
By 7, I was feeding the cats and the smell of the wet food sent me running to the bathroom for a nice rendezvous with the porcelain god. I despise throwing up with every fiber of my being and so I try to avoid it whenever possible. It was not possible this time.
I spent the rest of the evening marooned on the couch, having been wrapped in a blanket by Mr. X, sipping Crystal Light to keep hydrated while watching Patrick Dempsey make a grand fool of himself in Made of Honor. Silly boy should stick with playing McDreamy. I also checked in with the porcelain god everyonce in a while, but thankfully, no more upchucking.
By 10, I was in bed, with a bucket next to me, fervently hoping that the worst was behind me (no pun intended). I felt better this morning, and actually had a raging appetite at lunch, but now I’m feeling a little queasy again. This bug is not completely knocked down, but I think he has finished having his way with me.
At least its CD 6 so I have at least a week to recover before prime babymaking time arrives. Did I mention I still have a list-full of chores to do and next to no energy?