Last week was one of historically sad proportions for me..
This past Friday, one of the proudest personal achievements of my life came to an end.
When it comes to nausea, I have an iron stomach. The “runs,” that’s a different story. (People call me Mount Saint Mallow)
Anyway, I must have caught a nasty little stomach bug last week, ’cause, for the first time since I was 5 years old, I threw-up.
Thankfully, it was projectile vomiting, and not some drawn out, heaving all-day horror.
And it was just one time.
In any event, it was traumatic.
For last time it happened, I was a wee one. Not a care in the world.
I remember it vividly. It was a sparkling fall day. I was walking with my parents outside the Ocean County court house, and had just finished a pack of yummy M&Ms.
Suddenly, I felt a bizarre sensation: Queasy tummy, dizzy, with a cold/hot sweat.
Before I knew it, I barfed in a bayberry shrub that lined the sidewalk.
I was horrified. From then on, I made a pact with myself never to vomit again.
I’ve held true to that pact ever since. Had every other gastro-intestinal event, no matter whether it was caused by a virus, food, or too much booze.
Then came Friday.
I tried all my tricks: Seltzer, “Tummy Mint” tea, Mylanta, Pepto, praying over my bloated stomach.
It was all for naught.
I stared into the toilet, and before I knew it, my record was shattered.
Thankfully, it only happened once. And just as thankfully, I felt better immediately. (I’ll spare you the contents.)
For the next couple of days, though, it felt like someone took a sledge-hammer to every joint in my body.
All around, it’s been a tumultuous year for me.
I busted my back at work in May of ’09. Had three surgeries in six months. Back is still a wreck, and my future is very uncertain.
But this was one heart-breaking event.
In one second, a record of 33 years literally went down the drain.
It makes me sick to my stomach just thinking about it.