** I feel I should give a wee warning that this post may be on the verge of too much information for some, mostly involving bodily functions. I do however promise that any graphic details will be bolstered with as much humour as I can muster.  And in the very least I openly invite you to chuckle at my expense as a means of suffering through the gore.  Consider yourselves warned. **

A Shit Storm

I don’t know if it is strangely fitting or torturous irony that the day following my post For Shit’s Sake that what befell me did.  I was hit.  HARD.  And low.  By the most horrible gut-thing I have had in a very long time.  I can think of numerous other icky, nasty medical/sick things that have happened to me that do not parallel this.

On top of my diabetes, I have many other things that effect my physical wellness on a daily basis.  Blah, blah, blah – I won’t bore you with all the details – my heart and kidneys (though not troubling me currently) suffered some damages from years ago and aren’t always up to snuff and I have a wonky tummy that has seen me undergo countless exploratory surgeries, procedures and treatments to no avail, and of course all my lady issues – ahem, just a short list.  Anyways.  Whatever this is.  It was (is?) bad.

AND, however this post comes out, just bear with me (and believe me when I say, (sh)it could come out of anywhere)…

The Sickness

Seven days ago it arrived.  Casually.  Feeling tired, feeling blah I chalked it up to a few restless nights easing the wee one’s growing pains and general menstrual un-pleasantries.  I shook it off and even picked up a shift at other work for the following day.  This silly fatigue isn’t going to get me down!

But.  In the wee small hours of Wednesday morning came a sonic boom’s worth of nausea followed by a tsunami of vomiting unlike any I had ever experienced or witnessed before…and that was not all.  I prayed to the porcelain gods, regular old God, Vishnu and every other deity that entered my brain between the convulsions.  Which were so violent that they rendered me incapacitated.  Shrivelled on the bathroom floor.  The hubs dragged me back into bed.  Unfortunately, I wasn’t there for long…

Back to the bathroom.  I am used to vomiting.  In fact, I would say I’m a puking pro.  My tummy troubles span more than two decades.  Think of how you feel when you have a 24-hour flu bug.  You know that uneasy feeling, that one that makes you second guess every swallow?  That’s how I feel on a GOOD day.  So.  Trust me.  When I say that I know upset stomachs, I do.  But this was not my normal tummy troubles.

I was now sitting on the toilet.  And it was just as violent.  Now my head was in the garbage can.  And all kinds of sounds – horrendous, horrible heaving and others – permeating through the door.

Needless to say, I didn’t make it in to work that day.  Or the next.  Or the next.

Days ONE, TWO and THREE

Now when I get sick I still have to work.  Not because my regular boss is a tyrant (I am) or because my other boss is (she IS NOT).  But because I am a Type 1 Diabetic.  My blood sugars become the priority when I am sick.  Even more than my little guy.  And that is heartbreaking at times.  BUT.  If those numbers aren’t in good shape than neither am I.  And the issue with something like this sickness is its effect on my blood sugars.  It sends them into a tizzy and they are all over the place.  Insulin or not.  Good management or not.

So.  I don’t get to just be sick.  I already am sick.  When things get bad I am barely able to care for myself.  It is a lot of work to keep up to date with my insulin shots, testing my blood sugars, and other regime details on a perfect day.  But would you want to prick your finger every two hours and take six shots of insulin while alternately (and sometimes simultaneously) puking and shitting yourself?  Yeah, didn’t think there would be a line up for that.

I am accustomed to having to uber monitor my numbers whenever I get the pukes.  But I was not equipped for dealing with DOUBLE TROUBLE.

And that is exactly what I had going on.  Every sip of water came right back up or out almost immediately.  I spent all of DAY ONE in the bathroom.  Hubby had a commitment that morning he could not get out of, so he dropped the wee one at school and hurried off so he could be home by the early afternoon.  I can recall sitting on the toilet and just crying because of the ferocity of the episodes.  By the end of DAY ONE my body was obliterated.  And so I slept.

DAY TWO we woke up to a sniffling, coughing little one.  He was in no shape to trek off to the land of learning and play.  So he stayed home.  I waved off hubby’s concerns and assured him we would be fine.  But within 90 minutes of the household rising, hubby had called in to work (thank goodness for his new place of employment, they are tremendously understanding and have alleviated his concerns about needing to be there for his family), I was back and forth from bathroom to bedroom and the little one was set up in bed with all the comforts a kid could ask for.  Guess I wasn’t going to make it on my own today.

**Forgive me, but this is where I need to make a small side note – I am really upset with my government and its treatment of diabetics.  Especially me.  I was denied my ODSP claim because it was deemed that insulin is not life-sustaining (go on, ask me what happens if I don’t take it).  But when I am sick and cannot work, my income is not the only income lost.  Hubby’s income is lost too.  And we are not only struggling to deal with me being sick (and ALL the other crap that comes along with adulthood and parenting), but to survive as well.  I (for) now descend from the box of soap.**

DAY THREE arrived and the wee one was still coughing.  Still lethargic.  Still in no mood to attend academia.  So home he stayed.  With me.  El Puko Loco.  Hubby snuck in to work for a quick shift.  The little one and I toughed it out.  We needed to, we needed the income that shift would provide.  Basically we slept, rolled around the house.  I specifically rolled in and out of the bathroom.

Leaving a piece of my soul.  Each.  And.  Every.  Time.

By the end of DAY THREE there was no real improvement.  I was sipping water every five minutes (I remembered being told that once by a doctor), in an attempt to keep it down and stay hydrated.  But I was starving.  No food for over three days.  I wanted to eat soooo badly.

I was craving a big, dirty burger.  Hubby obliged.

I thought I could handle it.  I was wrong.

So VERY wrong.

And with that I dragged my sorry ass back to the bathroom…