sick

A few weeks ago Shari calls and suggest I host Oscar night.  I enthusiastically agree.  But then, some people are out of town while others show little interest.  It gets scaled back to, “whoever wants to come, come, and then we’ll order in, depending on who is here.”  And then I get sick and it’s cancelled.

I wake up not feeling right.  Overwhelmingly tired (after 8-hours of sleep), achy, and nauseous.  I spend most of the day sleeping.  I am talking to M around six.  I’ve eaten nothing and am afraid to.   She suggests ginger ale and saltine crackers, neither of which I have in the house.  But I’m feeling a bit better.  I decide to walk around the corner to my local D’Agostino.

The fresh air feels good.  I pick out the saltines and then the ginger ale.  All of a sudden I feel my body ignite.  Beginning with my toes, an immense heat travels up my body and I think I could faint, right there in the soft drink aisle of D’Agostino.  I should leave but so much effort was involved in getting to the store I don’t want to go without my items.  But the lines are long.  People must be stocking up for their Oscar Parties.  I find a manager and say, “Can you please help me? I am feeling sick and the lines are long.  Could you possibly check me out?”  He looks at me and my appearance confirms I am not feeling well.

We get to the register, and I am feeling hotter and hotter, weaker and weaker.  I put my head down on the register.  He completes the order, but I know I cannot make it the short walk home. 

There’s a long window seat in front of the cashiers.  I sit down, amidst bags of groceries waiting to be delivered.  I put my head in my hands.  And then I throw up.  I hear customers shriek.  After all, they are buying food.  Then someone yells, “Should we get her an ambulance?”  I mumble not to, followed by a series of unheard I’m sorries.

One of the delivery boys walks me home.

I crawl back in bed, sorry I had ever left it.  Watching Ben get his deserved Oscar for Argo makes me feel a little better.

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Addendum:  I later speak to my doctor and learn I probably have something called norovirus that is spreading throughout New York.  I google it and find this:

One British scientist called it the "Ferrari of the virus field" for its ability to spread rapidly. Fewer than 20 virus particles are enough to infect someone.

Now these poor people in line at D’Agostino could get sick, on top of being repulsed. How I wish I'd stayed in bed.  Their sentiments too, I'm sure.