I woke up in the middle of the night to growling bowels. This was when I learned that growling bowels in the middle of the night is a sign. A terrible sign. I got to the bathroom and couldn't decide which end to put over the toilet first. My head won and my underwear lost.
Wasn't I empty yet? How could there be more? The consistency and color changed, but it didn't stop the heaving and churning. I lost a concept of time, knowing only my traitorous body. When I finished heaving, I would kneel before the sink and rinse my burning mouth. Eventually, I couldn't get up high enough to reach the water taps. I no longer cared about the cleanliness of the bathroom floor, the toilet or myself. I wanted the agony of my quivering digestive system to end, and I didn't care how.
My head lay on the curved carpet that hugged the front of the toilet. I made bargains in my head. Please don't let me throw up again. Please calm down. Please don't open me up and flush me out again. If I hold really, really still, will you stop?
24 hour flu. One day of my life. I lay there, shaking my head slowly from side to side, willing my body to obey, but my thoughts were detached, too. If I had to feel like this all the time, like a cancer patient in treatment, could I make it? Would I want to? My frightened, honest voice said I would rather die than feel like this.
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