Of all the different symptoms, by far the worst is vomiting. I can keep my sense of humor up during coughing fits, sinus infections, stomach cramps, etc.—Hell, some of my best material has come from having severe diarrhea. But vomiting? That changes everything.
You know it’s coming when your mouth starts to fill with a little extra saliva. A moment later the queasy feeling in your stomach starts. I’m usually in denial when I get the first wave of nausea, but within seconds it’s usually reinforced by stronger waves and in no time the look of panic on your face reads like a headline.
The worst part is that you know there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s a fait de compli. It’s no longer a question of if you’re going to vomit, the question is, “How bad is it going to be?”
And so you find yourself on the bathroom floor, waiting, as if a lethal injection is coming. You are faced with great despair. You look around the bathroom floor noticing every detail. A stray pube off in the corner. Water spots. A dead spider. Meanwhile the waves of nausea increase in frequency and the urgency of the situation becomes almost intolerable. Here it comes. It’s coming now. You start to spit a little bit of saliva into the bowl. The first contraction comes with little result, but you know you have passed the point of no return. The second contraction is somewhat stronger and you spit again. By the third time you’ve usually got yourself some results. No matter how hard you try not to, you find yourself identifying bits of what has been purged. I’m sorry, it’s a fact.
Meanwhile your mind is absolutely racing. How long can this go on? Is it almost over? And so on.
There are a lot of different styles of vomiting. I pride myself on being a quiet puker. Unless you had your ear against the door and heard the splash you’d never know it was happening. Others have no self control. It sounds like someone’s fucking murdering them in there. I’m talking about fucking unholy sounds. Some people follow up a good splash with intense moaning until the next ejaculation.
Sometimes the whole ordeal is compounded by well-wishers. “Are you okay in there? Is there anything I can do?”
Yes. Shut the fuck up. I’m on the bathroom floor puking! I feel like it’s my final hour for Christ’s sake, and now I have to talk through the door? I’m trying not to expel my fucking organs in here!
The only thing that could make it worse is when it happens in public. Or while driving. Or standing in line at the DMV. Have you ever had to puke just standing somewhere in public? But enough of this. I’m not one to take things too far.
I'm a murder victim, as you so creatively put it. When I'm sick, the neighbors know it. It's practically an aerobic workout.
Posted by: shank at September 28, 2005 09:21 AMNow THIS is the Paul I remember... yech.
You're completely right on the "Are you ok?" shit, that pisses me right off. "If I was ok would I be seeing last nights tv chicken dinner floating where my shit should be? Oh, and the only way you could help is if you get a rag and bucket and clean this mess up"
I sound more like someone is punching me in the gut "Hurrrrk" and then a couple of "Oh God!"s and then another "Huhhrrrrr". Yummy, thanks for bringing back those memories, Paul.
Posted by: Oorgo at September 28, 2005 11:39 AMSo. Are you okay in there?
Posted by: Jennifer at September 28, 2005 12:56 PMTry being in a mall. Nothings worse than having to puke where there are so many people around. I tried to control the sounds but I just couldn't.
Posted by: Tiffani at September 28, 2005 01:56 PMI think the worst one for me was downtown on a main street during rush hour across the street from the Jazz festival. After blowing chicken burger chunks into a garbage can I look up and there's a guy I went to college with driving by and waving from his car.
Class.
Posted by: Oorgo at September 28, 2005 03:36 PMI like to puke, and I have very little to no shame. And I think I may be developing esophageal reflux something or other, because it seems I can't knock back whiskey straight like I used to.
A few weeks ago, my Dad and I went to a matinee, but we stopped at a bar/restaurant to knock back a few and catch a buzz. I tossed back three double whiskeys, and chased them with a beer. On an empty stomach. We're heading out to my Dad's van, and with NO warning I just chuck right there in the parking lot. Then again. And again. Hey, are those my socks in there?
Then I felt fine, and started back for the van. I happened to glance at the restaurant windows as I'm wiping my chin and snapping the secret sauce off to the pavement, and saw nothing but horrified faces, looking out at me. It was the lunch hour, and I'm sure the waitresses hated me.
Posted by: Bane at September 28, 2005 05:40 PMAre you kidding? You'd rather have the shits? That stuff goes on for hours. A whole friggin day sometimes. You throw up, you have some water, brush your teeth, eat a piece of bread, and you're back on the road. You can even skip the teeth and bread thing; just have a stick of gum and be making out with the drunk dude next to you within the half-hour. Not that I've ever done that, because that's sick shit. But it's not actual shit, and that's a Good Thing.
Posted by: sis at September 28, 2005 11:34 PMOh, sis, I hear ya, but I always pretended in my head that it wasn't puke, but that you'd just eaten spaghetti. And is that a mushroom in your panties, or are you just happy to see me?
Posted by: Bane at September 28, 2005 11:48 PM