13 years and 11 months. That is how long it has been since I have thrown up as an adult. The tombstone photo is appropriate this morning as last night I was fairly certain the pain in my stomach would kill me.
I exaggerate. Most writers exaggerate, don’t they? At least we utilize the poetic license that allows us to re-work incidents so that they sound even better or dramatic than they actually were or are.
I think it was food poisioning that kept me out on the front porch in the middle of the night, rocking back and forth in the cool temps. It was the only thing that kept the pain at bay. I crept downstairs at 12:30 a.m. and tried sleeping in the big comfy chair. I didn’t want to watch t.v. or go on the Internet, or read, or even write. I just wanted that darn stomach pain to go away! Hunched over, I hobbled back in the house a few times to doze off in the chair, but would soon wake up and go back out to the porch to rock. I knew I had to get “it” out before I would feel better; whatever “it” was, so it was actually a relief when around 4:00 a.m. I threw up. And, sure enough, shortly after that, I fell asleep. I woke up just a few minutes before my sister arrived to take our walk. I wanted to walk. I needed to walk. But my body is not cooperating. I’m tired, and still feel a little queasy. So Pat visited with me and we talked about what I’d eaten that might make me sick. I mentioned the bag of almonds and cranberries and how the first hand-full made me think, “Hmmm… that doesn’t taste right.” But I ate them anyway. I was hungry and that was pretty much my lunch; those almonds and tiny carrots with ranch dip.
Whatever it was, it is better now. This morning my husband made me tea and I will eat two slices of WHITE bread, toasted and sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar, along with another cup of tea. I have cut down on bread so much these past 13 weeks, it will be a real treat to have the sugar and cinnamon toast we always had as children when we were sick.
And the tombstone? I took a picture of it when I rode through the cemetary last Fall. The small tombstone next to it is for a “Mary Kenyon”, who died in the early 1900’s. Initially, it kind of freaked me out to see my name on a tombstone. Then I started purposefully riding my bike past her stone. I haven’t done that for awhile, but when my sister Pat is on vacation later this month and we won’t be walking together, I think I will start taking those evening bike rides again.
And I’ll visit Mary.