The big party had been in the works for some time. Somewhere between a wedding and a spontaneous weekend get together is where this gathering should be classified. While there weren’t supposed to be many out-of-town guests, there were plenty who had this date marked down as a can’t-miss event.
As such, there are certain people without whom this fiesta would surely be a failure. Not that their presence would necessarily add to the aura, but their absence would undeniably and inexplicably minimize the electricity. Uncle Buck is one such person.
As the nightfall signaled the arrival of several guests, family, and friends, the phone rang. It was Buck. He said he cannot make it tonight as he has been sick since last night, regurgitating repeatedly, his body still in shambles as the slightest of movements triggered massive changes in stomach comfort.
What!? How can he not make it tonight? What do you mean he’s sick? I don’t believe him. He obviously doesn’t want to be here. Who gets sick, anyway?
Normally, I would agree with this sentiment. How can someone become conveniently sick at such a bad time? And even if he is sick, how can he be so sick that he cannot make it to this long-anticipated party? Maybe he has a cold, but it’s obvious that he doesn’t want to be here. Uncle Buck must be a liar.
However, the past two days have reminded me of just how sick a person can be, no matter what time it is. I started to feel a little woozy Wednesday night. My stomach was crying either, “feed me, jerk” or “get that food away from me, jerk”. I wasn’t sure which it was. So I went to Taco Bell.
Now, I understand that the Border doesn’t serve what many would think is a healthy meal, but if my stomach wanted food, this is perfect to satisfy its request, and if not, then I would surely know after the first bite.
It became painfully, literally, obvious that my stomach did not want any food-but not until I scarffed down two steak soft tacos and a double-decker supreme. I immediately felt the repercussions of my misdiagnosis. My entire body was hot and cold, weak and weaker; all the while I could feel the bug circulating from my head down to knees and back to my stomach.
I felt as though I just woke up on a Sunday after an especially exciting college football Saturday. The difference is I know what to expect after drinking from noon until midnight. I understand why my head is throbbing and my stomach is empty. Not this time. I haven’t had a drink since last week, why do I feel like I want to rip my entire insides out?
And that is exactly what happened. After a couple false alarms, my entire life led to this point. Huuuuuaaaaaaalllllcccckkkkaaaahhhhhh! That felt pretty good, to be hon- HHHHuuuuuuaaaAAAAAlllLLLckkAAAAAhhhh! Oh yeah, that hit the sp-HUALCKAH! Ahh, yes. A lot better now, back to bed.
I thought I chewed that steak.
While I felt better, I knew I wasn’t finished. Within minutes, my body felt the same as it did before I rode the porcelain bus, as my father likes to call it. I knew there was more to be had.
To make a long story short (Too late!), I had another, much more violent attack similar to the one described above. After that incident, there was no doubt about the emptiness inside. My entire last meal, along with several cups of lemonade, orange juice, coke, strawberry Jell-O, and water, was halfway down the sewage pipes. My body, finally, empty.
Yesterday, Thursday, was the same, except without the regurgitation, which is actually worse. There was nothing left to barf, but my body still felt the bug circulating.
It is at this time when the sickness can be overcome, an obstacle that can slow you down but in no way stop you. It is this time when an athlete can will his or her way through the pain, or use it as an excuse. You know that you’re sick. It doesn’t matter if anyone believes you. You also know that you never, ever, ever, want to experience that feeling again. Finally, you know that it is all in the head. You can overcome any illness by pretending that it’s not there. Or can you?
The next time someone says he or she is sick, give the person the benefit of the doubt. Even after this horrible experience, I know I will be skeptical the next time I hear someone complaining of an illness, no matter what my insides tell me. But the truth is, some physical ailments need more than just mental fortitude in order to be cured.
It is now Friday. I feel slightly better. I may be well enough to travel to the local sports bar later for some wings and a pitcher.
Just don’t expect me to make it to any parties.