Wednesday night my youngest daughter started projectile vomiting all over the house. By Thursday, my wife had contracted it. Friday night I could feel it coming and by Saturday morning, I had it full blown. Actually Saturday started with me laying in bed, unsure if I had it or not and unwilling to move for fear that I might find out.
The boy walked in and said, " good morning !...ummm by the way, I threw up twice last night."
" Uh, in my room, I'm sorry"
I walked into his room to see vomit strategically spewn all over his covers, the bed and the floor. Any doubts at to whether or not I was going to spend the day nauseous were sealed right there and then. The rest of the weekend was spent prone watching TV and hoping not to die.
Which reminds of a story of one other time i had the stomach flu.
I was in school and had it bad. I sweated it out for two days in my room, getting up only to got the the bathroom where I would howl in pain and grab the seat so as not to get blown out of the stall. After about 48 hours of of sweating the fever and emptying the lower half of my intenstinal tract it started to lift. The fever came down under 101 and I could sit upright without having to barf. With all the strength I had I got dressed and started heading down to the health campus in hope that they had some medicine to cure Lupus or whatever I had contracted.
I live about 1 mile from the infirmary and had been walking for about a half mile when I had the uncontrollable desire to fart. Now being a veteran of such incidences, I knew better than to let one rip. The last thing I needed was a spoonful in my trousers. I stopped in my tracks and very gingerly, oh so tenderly, I slowly loosened up the sphincter and tested the waters with the tiniest of flatulence. A squeeker if you will. Whew...nothing but gas.
I continued on my way somewhat relieved, but still not totally satisfied as there continued to be slight pressure on my lower half. Again I paused, gingerly relaxed, and as inconspicuously as possible provided myself some necessary relief with a nice solid, although purposely quiet fart. Ahhhhh, no worries at all. I continued on my way.
Now about three quarters of the way to the health campus the gas pains returned. Now this was getting to be a bit ridiculous. Hopefully when I got to the infirmary, they'd be able to give me something for the gas as well as the fever. Emboldened with confidence of my first two attempts I figured I'd just let this one go 'on the fly' and get to the infirmary and get things over with.
Then it happened.
A big and expected whiff of gas came out and the swelling in my belly subsided. Then, without warning, and with all the power of the Hoover Dam busting at the seams, the last remnants of my bowels started emptying into my pants. I instinctively tightened my sphincter, but to no avail. This was like a jailbreak. I even stopped in my tracks and clenched my buttcheeks, but it was no use. I might as well have been trying to stop a fire plug with two boxing gloves for all the good it was doing.
For a good 5 seconds, which anyone who has been in a similar situation could surely tell you is an anal eternity, the entire remaining contents of my lower bowels emptied into my pants. I had been worried about a spoonful....a got the whole gallon.
I stood stood there...still....stunned....ashamed....Panicked. Then I noticed a very very odd thing.
Despite what had to be a good quart of poo emptying out of my bottom, I couldn't....and i hate to be graphic here....I couldn't feel anything running...you know...anywhere.
Then I realized that a very surreal, dare I say, miraculous thing had occurred. In my haste to get dressed and out the door, I hadn't worn jeans and boxers. Instead I slipped on a pair of brief and and old pair of sweatpants. The combination of these two items had created sort of a catch basin...or depository, if you will....that all of the offending material was now precariously perched in. Everything I was worried about was hanging somewhere between my testicles and knees and was bordered on either side my the elastic bands of my undershorts.
By all means, this wasn't a solution...but it did offer hope. Slowly and steadily I turned. With the grace of a ballerina and the iron nerves of a bomb diffuser I waddled my way back toward home. Somehow, some way, it what is really a blur that I attribute to divine intervention, I negotiated my way through the sea of students and all the way back to the dormitory bathroom where I was able to extract myself from the shorts and shower all in one relatively safe manner.