So, I got up and ate a half carton of blueberry yogurt. Sat in front of the television watching political shows until I could not stand seeing Rick Santorum's face one more time. Got up. Called my sister since I was supposed to go over for a visit that afternoon.
We agreed that I should come right away. My headache seemed to be abating and I had the HAHAHAHAHA feeling that I get when I fool the migraine monster. I went over to Patrice's home and we visited. I had iced tea and she set out a bowl of those crackers that are Ritz on one side and pretzel on the other. I ate a few, but my stomach felt a bit queasy, so I backed off.
I stayed for about an hour and then felt the headache coming back, so said my goodbyes.
I was almost halfway home when the migraine decided to hit me full force. Now, if you've never had a migraine, it is kind of hard to explain. If you have had one, you know exactly what I'm talking about, Willis.
Pain came stabbing out of my left eye and all around it so painfully that I literally gasped. My eye immediately began to water profusely. The pain settled into one small, horribly throbbing place at the corner of my left eye. It throbbed in time to my heart beat. My stomach lurched. The bright sunlight was killing me.
I kept driving, albeit a wee bit over the speed limit. Okay, that is a dirty falsehood. I put the pedal to the metal. I knew it was a race to get home before I spewed the contents of my stomach.
I was about two blocks from home when that feeling came. That feeling that I was going to throw up in ten seconds or less. I pulled into a church's parking lot, mercifully empty, and went to open my door. The lock jammed.
GOD DAMN IT, BING. I TOLD YOU I WANTED A NEW CAR MONTHS AGO. THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!!!
I grabbed the towel that Bing keeps in the glove compartment to check the oil.
Threw up into it. And all over my chest, the steering wheel, my cupped hands holding the oil rag and on an innocent pair of gloves just sitting on the front seat, minding their own business, totally clueless as to why they deserved this fate.
The smell came back to hit my nostrils, which did not help my queasy stomach or throbbing head. Pretzels, Ritz crackers, blueberry yogurt and water. The sight of vomit made my stomach lurch and I weakly threw up a little more before it stopped.
Oh, shit. Fuck. Now, not only did I stink, but I had a big mess to clean up. And it would be ALL MINE since I sort of pride myself on turning Bing on, not off. I didn't want her or Liv near this.
I parked crookedly in the garage (Sorry, Bing!) and wrestled the car door open. Of course, now that I wasn't ready to throw up in ten seconds, it opened nicely with little trouble. I staggered out, carefully holding up my red sweatshirt, exposing my bra and not caring. When I got into the house, I headed straight for the kitchen sink where I unrolled my sweatshirt and threw the oil rag in. Then I gingerly pulled it over my head, careful not to get vomit in my HAIR. Once off, I rinsed and rinsed and rinsed again. I could still smell this sickening mix of pretzels and blueberry yogurt, though.
Socks came scampering into the kitchen.
"What smells so divine?"
Bing walked into the kitchen, holding her hand over her nose.
"What the FUCK is that SMELL?"
I briefly told her about the migraine and admitted sheepishly that I had a car to clean.
Bing is not good with vomit. When Liv had her first bout with the stomach flu, I went into the bathroom to find her holding Liv's hair back as she vomited while she turned her own face away, silently gagging. When Liv was all done and I helped her back to her room, I could hear Bing throwing up in the bathroom. Just the sight and smell had made her blow chunks.
She literally cringed when I told her that I had to clean the car.
She took a deep breath.
"Honey, you have a migraine. Um...I'll clean it up. You get in bed."
I could have kissed her for that, but I hadn't brushed my teeth yet and I am quite sure it would have sent her over the edge.
No, I told her. I was okay to clean this up. Just. Leave. Me. Alone. I. Can. Do. It.
She hesitated. Was I sure? I said yes. She reached into the sink for my sweatshirt and the oil rag with her index finger and thumb. Was there anything else to be put in the washer? I said no, grateful to her for taking care of that at least.
And then, I swished water in my mouth and filled a bucket with hot water and Pine Sol and headed out to the garage to clean the car, my head pounding so hard that I worried that I would get sick again. Socks somehow got out the door when I opened it and when I opened the car door, he tried to leap in.
Why on earth do dogs love horrible smells? The two things that attract that dog more than anything are vomit and other dog's shit.
I weakly called for Liv to please come get the
She did, looking a little green around the gills. She's almost as bad as Bing when it comes to vomit. She could never be in the medical profession. Med school is so full of awful smells that the only way you learn to deal with it is to breathe through your mouth at all times.
The car got cleaned. It wasn't nearly as bad as I thought. Most of it had um...gushed on the rag and the front of my sweatshirt.
I went inside, yanked off every single article of clothing and got into the shower where I stood and let the steamy hot water pound into me as my head pounded in rhythm. I had taken a swig of mouthwash before I got in and swished it all over and then spit it out and stood under the cascade of water with my mouth open wide to get that awful taste out of my mouth.
And then I went to bed and slept for the rest of the day into Monday morning, missing the Academy Awards, which I had been looking forward to so much. And my new crush, Jean Dujardin won too. Shit. Missed his beautiful smile. Oh, well. I had a date with a migraine and it doesn't care what I plan.
Now, you might ask yourself why I
One reason: A few of you seem to think that not only do I have a magical marriage, but that my visage is always chic and ever so lovely.
No sirree bob. No way.
I throw up just like everyone else and it smells just like everyone's too.
My life is not a sitcom where Bing and I dance around the living room every night, caressing each other's cheek and nuzzling happily. And I don't mince prettily around in heels and Chanel suits.
Sometimes, I upchuck into oil rags.
And by the way, there is still a trace of vomit smell in the car. That and a big Pine Sol smell.
My life is not magical and I am not Jennifer Anniston.
So...now we all need to bond. How about some good vomit stories? Any takers? C'mon. Be brave.
Well, unless you're Jennifer....