It began as a series of bad dreams, which ran the gambit of uncontrolled public vomiting to going into labor in a dressing room. I awoke in the night with terrible pain in my gut and before long I was spewing from both ends. The cycle repeated itself every hour on the hour. I would crawl back into the bed, shaking, defeated and miserable.
Of course, illness never happens at a convenient time. This time, I had a morning appointment to get my hair done, followed by beer festival tickets at the Phillies stadium which included tickets to the game. None of this would be possible now. The heat wave that had inundating the area was threatening temperatures in the hundreds. On the best of days, this would have been a stretch, but with the way I was feeling, I knew there would be no way.
Around the fourth trip to the bathroom, my husband woke up to ask if I was okay. I felt terrible, but even more so about breaking the plans he was so looking forward to. To his credit, he took the bad news in stride and was very understanding. Sadly, his whole day was screwed and he’d be stuck taking care of me instead.
I called the salon to cancel the appointment. The girl was less than sympathetic and told me to, “have a good one.” Um, I just told you I’ve been up all night with a stomach flu, do you think today’s gonna be a “good one?” After that, I didn’t leave the couch to do much, other than barf and be miserable. It was definitely not a good one.