Saturday, January 10, 2004
EX-boyfriend
It's Monday at 4 a.m. I am awakened by a very. very. very. bad. feeling. Yes, I meant to put all those periods in that sentence. It was for effect. Now stop interrupting me and let me tell my story. So, it's 4 a.m. I'm asleep. But, suddenly, I awaken with a feeling of dread. No. It's more like OH MY GOD I'M FEELING DREAD. I'm very aware of having a stomach right now. I've never before felt with such certainty that, indeed, I am in possession of a stomach. But right now, mine wants out, and it ain't waiting. I lurch into the bathroom, slam my stupid ankle against the the doorframe, and barely make it to the toilet before vomiting violently.
I spend the next 12 hours by the toilet, sleeping on the floor with a blanket and pillow. I can't move more than 5 feet without being forced back to the toilet for one reason or another. I shiver, I sweat, I have painful stomach, abdominal, back, neck, and leg pains. My head is pounding. My skin is sliding off my skeleton. My ankle hurts, but I think that's from slamming it against the doorframe, yes? I suspect I have a something terminal. I can't call work because my telephone got cut off by mistake the day before and I can't get to phone. I can't call my boyfriend because he's out of town. I'm pretty sure I lose consciousness at some point.
At 5:30 p.m., the cramps subside enough for me to get brave and crawl - CRAWL - to the couch. I'm out of breath by the time I get there. I fall asleep immediately.
I awaken again around 7 p.m. I sit up. My stomach lurches, but stays put. I grab my robe off the floor, my blanket off the couch, and begin trying to get to the door. I manage. I feel a small victory. I step out onto the porch - did I really have the door open the whole night? I must have opened it earlier, trying to get to my neighbor's house - and pause. My stomach pauses with me. Another victory. I move to the stairs, step down, and do not compensate for the shakiness of my legs. I stumble and fall into the grass. A setback. I lie there, tired, and not entirely sure that I haven't shattered all the bones in my body. Slowly I struggle to my feet. I make it to my neighbor's porch, knock, and collapse onto a lawn chair.
She opens the door, sees me, and cries out in surprise. I hadn't realized how bad I looked, and probably - now that I'm thinking about it - smelled. She helps me inside, hands me me the phone when I croak for it, and rustles me some water while the phone rings at Chris's house. Water! Sweet nectar of the gods! I remember myself and sip. My stomach rumbles. I stop. Chris answers.
Chris: Hello?
Me: : Hey.
Chris: What's wrong? Are you okay?
Me: No. I'm really sick. I've been throwing up all day.
I was going to continue to transcribe this conversation, but in all fairness, I can't remember the way it went. But, very basically, it went like this:
Me: Will you bring me some medicine to help me stop throwing up?
Chris: No, I'm tired. But I'll come check on you tomorrow after work. I hope you get to feeling better.
Oh. How nice. Do you know where he works? At a PHARMACY. Anyone who has known me for more than a month should know that I don't ask for help unless I really really need it. Chris knows this. He says I'm being stubborn. I think I'm being self-reliant. But when the only part of my body I haven't vomited yet is my pelvis, I'm going to ask for help. To have someone turn me down... not encouraging. And if he claims to love me, and can't get his lazy ass over to help me... well, he's lying. Either to himself, or to me - and I don't care which.
Granted, I drank some tomato soup, fell asleep immediately on the couch, and didn't wake up until 8:45 the next morning. But I would have heard someone knock on my door. He didn't call or come check on me the next day.
I spend the next 12 hours by the toilet, sleeping on the floor with a blanket and pillow. I can't move more than 5 feet without being forced back to the toilet for one reason or another. I shiver, I sweat, I have painful stomach, abdominal, back, neck, and leg pains. My head is pounding. My skin is sliding off my skeleton. My ankle hurts, but I think that's from slamming it against the doorframe, yes? I suspect I have a something terminal. I can't call work because my telephone got cut off by mistake the day before and I can't get to phone. I can't call my boyfriend because he's out of town. I'm pretty sure I lose consciousness at some point.
At 5:30 p.m., the cramps subside enough for me to get brave and crawl - CRAWL - to the couch. I'm out of breath by the time I get there. I fall asleep immediately.
I awaken again around 7 p.m. I sit up. My stomach lurches, but stays put. I grab my robe off the floor, my blanket off the couch, and begin trying to get to the door. I manage. I feel a small victory. I step out onto the porch - did I really have the door open the whole night? I must have opened it earlier, trying to get to my neighbor's house - and pause. My stomach pauses with me. Another victory. I move to the stairs, step down, and do not compensate for the shakiness of my legs. I stumble and fall into the grass. A setback. I lie there, tired, and not entirely sure that I haven't shattered all the bones in my body. Slowly I struggle to my feet. I make it to my neighbor's porch, knock, and collapse onto a lawn chair.
She opens the door, sees me, and cries out in surprise. I hadn't realized how bad I looked, and probably - now that I'm thinking about it - smelled. She helps me inside, hands me me the phone when I croak for it, and rustles me some water while the phone rings at Chris's house. Water! Sweet nectar of the gods! I remember myself and sip. My stomach rumbles. I stop. Chris answers.
Chris: Hello?
Me: : Hey.
Chris: What's wrong? Are you okay?
Me: No. I'm really sick. I've been throwing up all day.
I was going to continue to transcribe this conversation, but in all fairness, I can't remember the way it went. But, very basically, it went like this:
Me: Will you bring me some medicine to help me stop throwing up?
Chris: No, I'm tired. But I'll come check on you tomorrow after work. I hope you get to feeling better.
Oh. How nice. Do you know where he works? At a PHARMACY. Anyone who has known me for more than a month should know that I don't ask for help unless I really really need it. Chris knows this. He says I'm being stubborn. I think I'm being self-reliant. But when the only part of my body I haven't vomited yet is my pelvis, I'm going to ask for help. To have someone turn me down... not encouraging. And if he claims to love me, and can't get his lazy ass over to help me... well, he's lying. Either to himself, or to me - and I don't care which.
Granted, I drank some tomato soup, fell asleep immediately on the couch, and didn't wake up until 8:45 the next morning. But I would have heard someone knock on my door. He didn't call or come check on me the next day.
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