***WARNING: This post is not for the faint of stomach. In attempting to describe my experience I have included details which may or may not induce nausea. Read at your own discretion, but note that the grossness is over by the second paragraph.***
Alas, I have been jinxed by all my grateful affirmations for not getting sick. Two nights ago, after falling asleep with some stomach pain, I awoke to a fierce rumbling in my tummy. While trying to find relief, I wound up projectile vomiting all over the bathroom floor, in an extraordinary maneuver that Hannah calls the "Two-For-One Special." Trying not to wake my poor roommate, I cleaned the floor, then lay down to rest and gain energy to brush my teeth again. No sooner did I brush my teeth than round two of Vom-A-Thon 2012 began, landing fortunately in the appropriate receptacle this time. When I woke up the next morning my stomach felt like someone was grabbing my guts from the inside. As Saturday is a weekday here, I called out from school, along with my roommate, Hannah, who was having gastrointestinal issues of her own. I got a little bit of sleep, having had such a rough night, and Hannah was feeling well enough to make me some plain pasta and bring me cold water when my bottle ran out. I was so lucky to have someone there to help me out and commiserate about not ever wanting to eat Indian food again. Even now, 24 hours later, the word "dosa" makes my stomach churn and groan. How delicious at the time, but how nauseating the next day.
Hannah and I spent most of the day watching movies on her computer, whining to each other about belly pain and making each other laugh with funny stories and observations about our ridiculous situation. I was fortunate enough to be able to Skype with a bunch of my Corrymeela family, as a bunch of my fellow long-term volunteers are having a mini-reunion in Northern Ireland. It was so great to see their faces and hear about their lives; a reminder of the good things I am also missing by taking this great opportunity. We all cracked up when my roommate Hannah, a Georgia native who went to NYU, heard the conversation and asked if Paul, the Center Director at Corrymeela, had "special needs," realizing a moment later that it was "just his accent." (When he told me about meeting the Queen and watching her shake hands with Martin McGuinness, Hannah went, "of England?? No he did not!") In the evening, I felt well enough to eat some eggs. But to my chagrin, all the precious eggs in our refrigerator had been eaten! Tangi had just started washing her hair, which those of you with her type hair will know is a two hour process, Patricia had just walked in the door and Hannah was a sickie like me. But I was really hungry! I put on clothes over my pajamas and ventured to the "supermarket" around the corner, praying I wouldn't suddenly puke all over the place. When I got there I of course couldn't find anything I was looking for, had to have people help me find the most basic items, and then had to convince the guy at checkout to give me eggs in a carton and not loose in a plastic bag.* I probably wasn't outside more than 15 or 20 minutes but I was totally exhausted, sweaty and too drained to be hungry any more. I took a shower, made myself eggs, and, in typical fashion, called my mom. Hearing her voice made me feel better, as a mother's voice is apt to do, and then Hannah and I resigned ourselves to watching Parks and Recreation until we fell asleep.
I woke up this morning ravenously hungry, made myself more eggs (and potatoes!) and relished not feeling like I wanted to tear out my insides. Yay! I've taken it easy today, and am just so glad to have survived my first gastrointestinal shitshow (literally) relatively unscathed.
*Yes, this actually happened.
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