D-Day

Note: Please do not read this post if bodily functions make you queasy.

Traci claims that I had a stomach virus, though no one else I’ve talked to has heard anything about a virus going around.

It started late Saturday night after several visits to the bathroom. I ultimately regurgitated once, which made me feel better, so I went to sleep happy.

Or did I?

I awoke many times during the night and unleashed a flood of ooze unto the almighty porcelain throne. Traci had to get up and go into the next room because of my constant disruptions.

We ended up having to duck out of Sunday School and lunch with the Turners and Canarys to celebrate Amy’s birthday. I kept expecting the vomiting to slow down as the day progressed, but it did nothing but increase in frequency.

I threw up a total of 24 times today. I hate to admit it, but I’m pretty sure that, toward the end, I was vomiting feces. That’s right, literal feces. Do you know how disturbing that is?

The only things I consumed on this day were a few glasses of water, a few of Gatorade, and one lone saltine cracker. I regurgitated them all almost immediately. This was becoming quite the virus to overcome.

Even though I slept through the whole day, I was ready to go to sleep early, hoping that the torture would be over with the next day. More on that tomorrow.

D-Day

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