¡Bienvenidos! Welcome to my new digs. I’m so excited to see so many new faces, and of course I’m thrilled that my friends from [crouching, looking around, whispering] Blogger followed me over. I like the new place. I hope you do too. Now, let’s get to it.
I was sneak attacked (is that a verb?) on Wednesday, and I’m still feeling it. Here’s what I know. I wasn’t feeling so well (you know, cyclical girl stuff) and I was asking around the office for ibuprofen. I eventually got 2 gel tabs after several hours. I was way in pain by then, had eaten lunch and was praying that someone would please kindly take my uterus away from me. I promised to come back for her should I ever need her for anything useful. I sat at my desk for a while waiting for the drugs to kick in. Nothing. Then I began my mission to wear a path in the carpet between my cube and the bathroom. I finally decided that it was time to go home when there was apparently no imminent end to the volcanic eruptions that were spewing from opposite ends of my body.
I live 27 miles from work. My best route is a straight shot, only 3 turns at the very end to get to my place, but a hundred traffic lights. The highways will get me there more quickly, and it’s not really rush hour yet, so I decide to chance it. As SOON as I commit to a route “WTOP Radio, traffic and weather on the 8s” informs me that there’s an accident on the route I’m on AND my bail out route. I have to jump off the highway and find my way back to my straight shot route…and so does everyone else in the back up. I’m. in. trouble.
I have been sweating like crazy since my “explosion” and I can not cool off. I have the air conditioning on full blast. 5, 15, 25, 35, 45 minutes into the drive and I am still burning up. My arms are clammy to the touch and, whew. Thanks to having to grab a trash bag to cover me up from the torrential downpour the day before, I have something to spread out on my lap in case I explode again. I feel saliva building up under my tongue. I’m swallowing repeatedly, trying desperately to distract myself from my absolute misery. I have to go to the bathroom again. For a second, I consider pulling over to the side of the road to call an ambulance or a friend to come pick me up. But for what? Certainly not to explode on the gurney or in someone else’s car. No. I have to make it home. Even if I have to have my car seat detailed. I have to keep going home. I have to maintain some dignity. (I already warned my boss that she should make sure the cleaning guy does an extra special job in the green bathroom tonight.) I didn’t have much left, but I needed to hang on.
I thought back to all of the times I used to have to call daddy to pick me up from school because being a girl was making me sick. The pain of this episode reminded me of that, and the nausea to an extent, but the clamminess and explosive…stuff…was more than I remember. I started to think about what on earth could be wrong. Pregnant? This doesn’t sound like anybody’s version of morning sickness I’ve heard. Appendicitis? I don’t know what the symptoms are. Could be. Toxic Shock Syndrome? I dwelled on that one for a long time. I even considered immediately removing the culprit, right there in my car in bumper to bumper traffic. Hell, my dignity’s not worth dying over.
I finally got home an hour and 10 minutes later. I immediately removed the little toxic shocker, took 800mgs of ibuprofen and went to bed. I passed out. I woke up 2 hours later, out of pain but still queasy. I was queasy all day yesterday and this morning until I drank a cup of ginger tea with a health spoonful of crushed ginger.
I’ve concluded that having remembered that I still had hummus from last week in the fridge at work, and choosing to eat it after doctoring it up with fresh lemon juice, was not a sound, money saving lunch alternative. I think the hummus tried to kill me. What about chickpeas, garlic, lemon juice and tahini goes bad so quickly (or whatever)? It’s not like there was mayo in there.
I’ve spent 2 days trying to re-hydrate myself. My fluid output is still no reflection of how much I’m ingesting. I’m definitely dehydrated. The thought of my commitment to happy hour after work today brings back all the queasiness. I wonder if they’ll put my water in a martini glass with 3 olives?