In Which I Reflect Upon Food Poisoning

So, back in September, I wrote a post about many things, including how John Green and Bill Gates were teaming up with water.org to build wells in Ethiopia...

Anyways, at one point, I wrote:

"I understand that diarrhea is one of the leading causes of death in children in many countries, because you can't drive to walmart and pick up some Pedialite. Because they don't have clean water, or easy access to IV systems, they get dehydrated and die. From diarrhea! As inconvenient as it is, diarrhea isn't something we have to worry we might die from."

It's ironic that I was talking about dying of diarrhea, when I was unknowingly in the first few hours of food poisoning. Never have I been more sick.

Let me just say, I have a lot of experience being sick. I have a chronic pain disease. But this beat all. Let's just say that I now know the difference between a little stomach bug-- which I get a lot, it's a part of fibromyalgia-- and true food poisoning.

Even thinking about it now, it's like, oh. My. Gosh. It's been over a month, and I'm still in shock over the trauma that was food poisoning. Let's just say I got so exhausted that I stopped being able getting out of bed, so I collapsed on the nasty carpet in my bathroom and cried. And barfed. And pooped. And cried so more. Every time I see carpet I have traumatic flashbacks.

Huuuuuuughhhhhhhhhhhhhnuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnn.

(That was a shudder/gag)

What did I get so sick off of? I don't know. Mom and I had gone to the movies-- so I ate popcorn, which I don't usually eat (but Mom had, too, and she was fine) and we'd gotten candy at the dollar store that was a little stale, but other than that all I had was a turkey Subway sandwich. Although not fancy in any sort of way, it was decent enough. It was a sandwich. How can you sick off a friggin turkey sandwich?

And it's like, my body has no self-preservation. I see Subway commercials, and instead of being overwhelmed with nausea like a normal person, I'm only on the slightly negative side of indifferent.

No, the best part was that Dad was out of town, so it was just me and Mom, and she took a sleeping pill so she missed this entire thing. It brought me a smile to realize that I despite the fact I had nearly every light in the house on, her door was wide open, I was flushing repeatedly, crying and barfing/dry heaving loudly. And in those few moments of agonizing quiet between attacks, I could hear her snoring happily away.

... Also, I'm not ruling out that dollar store butterfinger that tasted curiously stale.

Knowing me, I probably caught some parasite along with the food poisoning that is slowly eating my inside, and attaching to my spinal cord in order to defecate in my spinal fluid and therefore soil and overtake my brain. All while making me poop my brains out.

I never want to see a toilet again.