I was sitting at my computer writing “The Great American Novel” when it hit me, nausea. You know that overwhelming feeling to vomit. Or as my children say “Hurl”. This was Monday afternoon. By Monday evening, I was throwing up. I don’t know about you, I can deal with almost any kind of pain, but I cannot deal with being nauseous.
Tuesday, I had a 2:30 appointment with my doctor for something unrelated to this sickness. So I kept the scheduled appointment. I felt and looked like something out of “The Exorcist”.
I arrived at his office with no make-up on, barely combed hair pulled back with a pink scrungee. Green shorts, yellow blouse, and white sandals finished off my attire. I couldn’t even put on a bra. I want you to get the picture of what I looked like. I am a woman who normally looks meticulous.
The doctors’ nurse took one look at me and said, “You look like hell”. I whispered, “thank you” and she led me to a room with a table to lie down on. After the doctor did the usual examination and asked the usual questions. He gave me a shot, slapped a prescription in my hand and sent me on my way with, “take this medicine and you’ll be fine in a couple of days.” I couldn’t talk, I just nodded.
My husband, who suffered a stroke about eight years ago, did the driving to and from the doctors’ office. Now he has trouble finding his way home from our mailbox. So you can imagine, me holding my head with one hand and giving him directions with the other. Every so often I gestured with the wrong finger and passersby’s in other cars would look shocked. I scowled back at them and when they saw my face, looked away in fear. I couldn’t talk to my husband. The slightest movement of my head brought back the urge to heave.
Finally, we reached home. My husband who hasn’t been behind the wheel of a car in two years, decided to park in the neighbor’s driveway. I wasn’t even strong enough to tell him to move. I got out of the car with his help and walked next door to our house.
My son moved the car after the neighbor came over that night to complain that he couldn’t get into his garage. I shouldn’t say complain, because they are very nice people.
For example: we all have 2 garbage containers given out by the city. One is blue (for recycle), the other is black (for trash). Every so often my son would notice we multiplied by two. That’s because my husband saw the neighbor’s garbage containers by the curb and thought they were ours, and brought them into our yard. After several attempts to regain his property, our neighbor decided to write his name and address on his containers, but that didn’t work either. So now the neighbor just comes into our backyard, drops His trash into His containers and my husband puts them out on garbage day.
I went to bed. I couldn’t eat; I forced myself to drink water. Finally, by Tuesday night my lower gastrointestinal problem subsided. But I had a headache to die for. I was still vomiting. I was afraid to take too many pills because they only aggravated my vertigo.
I didn’t want to sleep. I started to have terrible dreams. I dreamed instead of four garbage cans lined up in the back-yard, we had everyone’s in the neighborhood. We even had them lined up along the pool area. It was a nightmare!
Wednesday and Thursday I stayed home and recuperated. I was still a little dizzy though.
Did I mention that my husband, because of his stroke, speaks Spanish ninety-five percent of the time. He speaks Spanish to everyone, it doesn’t matter who you are, children, store clerks and me. Half the time, when he speaks to me, I don’t know what he’s saying. Besides, he speaks very fast Spanish with a Cuban dialect. Our neighbor, who is Chinese, speaks English with a strong accent. When they greet each other outside and chat a little, my husband will invariably say to me, “he really should learn to speak better English”. This he tells me in Spanish, while I look at him in disbelief.
By Friday, I was much better. My nausea was gone. No more dreams either.
Other recommended reading by this author: Cats