A Vomitastic Day

If you couldn't already guess from the title, this post may contain some information you might file under "TMI". So, consider yourself warned. That being said, I like to find humor in insignificant unpleasantness, and so you are the lucky one who gets to hear about it.

Last Thursday night, Lisa made a delicious dinner that contained some meatballs. We've had them several times before with no problems. It was really good, and so I actually ate quite a bit. As we were going to bed that night, Lisa felt a little bit of nausea, but we went to bed without incident.

Fast forward a few hours, and I found myself turning in bed with a bit of a stomach ache. I hoped it would go away, but it only seemed to get worse. While my stomach was trying to decide which direction to send all the food it didn't want, I did my best to convince it to send it down south. Throwing up is way up there on the dislike list, and I would take diarrhea over vomit any day. And so I sat on the toilet hoping relief would come.

(this paragraph is probably the worst, feel free to skip it)
A little bit came out, but it seemed like my stomach was going to allow me to taster dinner once again. So, I got off the toilet and readied myself in puke position. Unfortunately, I got a whiff of what I had already left in there, and so I instinctively recoiled a bit. This threw off my aim, and thus the first heave was far from a direct hit into the toilet. More heaves quickly followed, but I was able to improve my aim somewhat on those. After I had a chance to catch my breath some, I actually saw the mess I had made. There was throw up all over the floor, not to mention my legs. Lisa was such a dear, and asked if she could get me something to drink, but at that time, there was no way I was giving my stomach more ammo. Upon seeing the mess, I had to get out of there before I made it worse. I felt so bad leaving it all there, but I had to get away.

Considering I had puke on my legs, showering became priority number one on the agenda. I headed to another bathroom and started the water. As it was getting warm, the thought came to my mind, "Man, it'd be great to just sit in a warm bath for a while..." Fortunately, I had enough sense to realize that would mean sitting in vomit-water. Undesirable. So, I took a nice long warm shower, even if it meant standing.

I got out of the shower and headed back to bedroom. Lisa was being wonderful, as usual, cleaning up the mess I had made. However, I could soon smell the odor I had left. I was forced to rapidly retreat once again. I could not be near that bathroom anymore. And so, I spent the rest of the night sleeping on the recliner in James' room. He had since woken up from all the commotion, and spent the rest of the night in our bed with Lisa.

So, I spent most of the day, wasting away on the couch not doing anything. Thinking it was an isolated incident, Lisa had the leftovers for lunch. I saw her eating them, and I immediately had to roll over the way and not think about it. I suppose I should have offered some sort of caution, but I was banning all thoughts of that food from my mind.

Then came the evening, and Lisa was feeling the nausea once again. It wasn't long before she found herself in the bathroom. Fortunately, her aim was much better than mine, and so there was no mess to clean up. I had also recovered pretty well by then, and so I am grateful I could hear her without making a new mess on the couch.

And so our two beleaguered souls gingerly made our way around the house for the rest of the evening. Who would have thought James would be the only one in the family to not puke for a day? Well, we got James to bed, and made our way to bed nice and early.

By Sunday, we were both feeling pretty good again, but had pretty much sworn off those meatballs for quite some time. We usually go to Lisa's parents' house for dinner on Sundays, and so I mentioned to Lisa how we should probably warn her mom, and how it would be funny if that was what she made for dinner that evening. Well, turns out more humor was to be had, as we found out that those exact same meatballs are exactly what she had prepared. Needless to say, we filled ourselves on other parts of the meal.

Today Lisa returned the poisonous meatballs, and our house is no longer infected. After such a day, you can only help but laugh at it, and hope it doesn't happen again. So, what's the moral of this story? I'd like to think that it's something along the lines of: The family that pukes together, stays together.