Last week we were hit with a sickness virus. I’m talking about a complete apocalypse of life where my soul was purged out of my body in a few hours of hell.
Not only was it soul destroying, but it was also one of the most un-dignifying moments of my life. I’m including giving birth in that list and still this sickness pipped it to the post.
At least with childbirth, you get a good reward at the end. With this sickness, all I managed to get was a few pounds lost (not complaining) and a fear of eating.
I wouldn’t have minded as much if this sickness bug just meant doing impressions of a pterodactyl down the toilet bowl every half an hour in the night. But it wasn’t. It was more than that.
Every time I threw up, my stomach muscles clenched so much that it inadvertently gave me an undesirable and unstoppable urge to poo. Although it wasn’t normal. Of course it wasn’t.
In that night, my arse might as well have been a polluted geiser. But which do you prioritise when the going gets tough? Throwing up? Or Shitting?
I had to make a snap decision in the moments between throwing up and knowing that I couldn’t stop the urge.
I had to shit on the floor while I threw up. I simply couldn’t stop it.
In this precise moment, my dignity was lost… probably floating somewhere around my bathroom floor.
The next time I went to throw up, it became an easy decision to whip off my pants ‘just in case’. This became my normality for the night. There’s just no way you can respect yourself when you’re on your hands and knees wiping your own watery geiser-shit off the floor in the middle of the night.
The next day
As the sun rose on a new day, I was undoubtedly feeling empty. Empty of fluid, empty of dignity and empty of strength.
The horses of the apocalypse had ridden straight through me, claiming every ounce of my being and left me as a shell.
I didn’t even have the energy to pick up my daughter. Overnight she’d seemingly gained 100lbs and my arms had turned to jelly.
Luckily hubby stayed home to look after her as I just physically wasn’t able and needed to curl into a foetal position.
It got me thinking about how I’d cope if hubby wasn’t around to pick up the pieces. We don’t have family that live nearby and I couldn’t ask a friend with kids over to help as I would not want to pass something like that on!
I just don’t know what I’d do. We’d be completely and utterly alone, left to fend for ourselves and somehow muddle through.
It gave me an unwanted glimpse into a life that I’m so very thankful that we don’t have. One where we couldn’t cope and I know it’d be heart breaking. But I also know that it’s a life that many people HAVE to live. Whether that’s through depression, sickness or single parents muddling through a short-term illness.
I just hope that there is help out there for people who do need it in their time of need.
Unfortunately hubby was hit by the bug that very night and was left a shell for the next day so I had no choice but to soldier on through.
I couldn’t eat properly for 48 hours after being ill. Even then I started slow with toast, plain pasta and jacket potato with cheese – I’ll admit, I was pushing the boat out with the cheese. After so long not eating, I was nervous about eating anything with any substance as previous attempts had given me stomach cramps.
Looking at food would give me mixed feelings of slight hunger intertwined with pure unadulterated fear. Would this be the end of me again? I didn’t want anything to backtrack on my progress over the past two days and I’d do anything not to feel like that again. I needed to be well to look after Georgia. Eating properly was the only solution, but could also potentially set me back again.
Gladly, the answer was no. It was over.
Now all I need to do is pick my dignity up from the bathroom floor if I can find it. If you see it, let me know.