How Foodies Get Sick, Part 2

Today I’m writing out of boredom and desperation. I have no excuse NOT to, as it is day FIVE of being confined to couch by The Mystery Illness.

I can’t have visitors, and really shouldn’t leave the house. I’ve watched 8 movies, and my Hulu queue is empty. I even organized my dresser drawers. (There were 12 single athletic socks with NO partner! TWELVE! How is that even possible?) I tackled this monumental task on the floor of my bedroom, drenched in a fever sweat. I had to take breaks, which involved lying down on the floor and mopping my forehead with the spare socks.

I’ve even exhausted my capacity for solitude, which I didn’t think possible.

The Mystery Illness is likely food poisoning, or a stomach bug. Whatever it is, it’s terrible. Stabbing stomach pains for 3 days, followed by a fever and all the lovely symptoms that accompany a fever, which seems to have finally broken.

Right before starting this post, I got so bored that I tried to do some data entry for an ongoing project at work. I lasted 15 minutes. I might be bored, but that task borders on torture, and the pain I suffered when cold, damp air hit my 102.7° skin Monday night was torture* enough for one week.

Welcome to my dum-dum fever brain.

It didn’t take long for the obligatory Googling of The Symptoms to take place. Those who know me won’t be surprised by this. As an amateur diagnostician and hobby anatomist, the challenge of staying objective during self-diagnosis can be very exciting indeed.

In all honesty, I’m not as hypochondriacal as my friends might lead you to believe. I had an experience in my early 20’s that taught me to pay attention because it scared the bejesus out of me. For nearly a year I had intermittent pain that I knew wasn’t right, but the docs kept saying it was normal “woman stuff”. I passively went along with them, which, no joke, nearly killed me.

So I like to have some idea of what is going on in there, and I’m totally into that medical blood-and-guts stuff too, so there’s a curiosity about it as well.

Though I will admit that, when my fever went from 100° to 102.7° in the span of an hour late Monday night, I got a little spooked. Maybe even delirious. I was alone, shivering, unable to sleep, and my thoughts got away from me. I was terribly worried, and made a deal with myself that if my fever hit 103° I would go to the ER. Since I had no hope of real sleep, I took my temperature every 30 minutes. When my arms had enough strength, I used my iPhone to research my predicament. (See screen shot above. I don’t even know what prompted the Lepto search.)

And then I did what everyone else does in this situation (right? right?!) and started an ER plan: what to pack, who to call, etc. Then I started to worry about the fact that my dresser was so disorganized.  How would someone find clean underwear for me in there should I end up being admitted? And what if I die? They’ll think I’m such a slob.

The ER trip never was necessary, and my symptoms are fading, thankfully. My dresser is in good order should an actual emergency arise. And should it, please note that the clean underwear is in the top drawer now.

More Food. Less (stabbing stomach) Pain.

*Uh oh. I’ve used the words “hostage” and “torture” and “confined” in this post. NSA? Are you listening? If you are, please note that of the 7 movies I watched, the last one was Argo and my language is probably just influenced by that. 


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