A Sickly Saga

My jams, positive and upbeat, were flowing through my iPod as I jogged alongside the wind on the unpaved roads of Northern Virginia one sub-40 degree morning when my stomach started a beat of its own. I had to stop my run, nearly two miles in; I decided to take six minutes to tend the aches before I continued on my running way. I made it another 15 minutes before my stomach, negative and nagging, needed another reprieve. At this point, I had the option to turn home... but I'm stubborn... so I continue running... until my stomach said no more. I walked the remainder home to calm the agony. Hoping this "run" was no omen for the upcoming Virginia State Cross Country Meet, I took the 20 minutes I had to prepare before the family's departure to shower instead of eat--my system was simply not taking food orders.

We arrived at Great Meadows with plenty of time to gear up for The Race. The wind was still whipping--more powerfully across the open polo fields than the wooded roads, but the sun was shining brightly above, the ideal condition for a late-fall windburn. After all the race day commotion, I realized my appetite had returned, though before I could get home to appease the hunger, a headache was setting in. I chalked it up to my morning outdoors and attempted to suppress the discomfort because the Clemson game was on. (I have no regrets--this Saturday, November 12 would mark the final game of the 2011 season as we had come to know it. The following week would symbolize an all too familiar story of feigned success.) As the game progressed, I knew this was no headache, I had progressed into migraine territory. And it was time for full combat mode: bed before eight, no lights, no noise. The demon kept me up a majority of the night and lingered throughout most of Sunday. Evil.

Monday: Despite my queasy stomach, my head was free of the brain pounding demon... therefore I planned to claim the roads as mine. BUT instead of running, I (actually) listened to my body (go me!) and walked two hours for exercise. I returned home to unbearable stomach pains. I showered because Latte Woman was having a coffee social I wanted to attend. BUT my stomach would not shut-up, and I would miss the coffee date. I laid on the couch in tears for four hours before I could move. After eating a plain bagel I perked up and spent a gorgeous afternoon on the deck finishing one book and starting another. I was alive. I hardly slept this night, little did I know... the real fun was about to begin.

Tuesday: Woke-up. Ran(!!!). Felt invincible... until I stopped, when the stomach god threw a party only my intestines were invited too. I got home and exploded emotionally, which hurt (and was embarrassing), so I stopped. I had five minutes to be at my human-sitting job. I crawled there, halving my normal pace; I was late, and my employer was forgiving.  

Moments later I called my mom for a dose of medication. Since arriving I had already tossed my lettuce leaves from Monday's dinner twice. I am fan of vomit (or the relief following a session)... but NOT at the neighbor's house. My mom appeared, magically it seemed, with pills for popping. She ended up sending me home, noting my disaster of a condition. I decided to shower, though the amount of water being wasted annoyed me. (Recall: I showered Monday. Forgive me: Running + Vomit = Disgusting) Then, I promptly threw up, round three--spoiling my cleansed body. When Mom finished my human-sitting duties, she took me to the doctor. (I could not drive; en route I debated an emergency room pit stop.) We arrived. I, ahem she, filled out mounds of paperwork. This proceeded my following the prompts of every existing test. 

The pain seem to diminish while I laid low and waited a few days for results. I went ahead with my scheduled trip to Orlando, Florida--starving myself for the three-day excursion to avoid any episodes of illness. My friends were alarmed; I was not willing to risk it. 

The doctor touched base upon my return. Doctor Woman told me to sit down for the results. Laugh on. Am I dying? The residual aches made me feel very much alive, though my body had been in survival mode lately. On top of what we already know, and among other "interesting" discoveries, a vitamin D deficiency was noted. Alter the diet and/or add vitamins--no big deal... except I'm skeptical--I drink half a gallon of fortified vegan (soy, almond, coconut) milk every other day. And when my diet wasn't so trendy, my skim milk consumption doubled that. In addition, unemployment allows me more 'fun in the sun' than anyone I know. Handing out vitamin prescriptions, read prescriptions, must be the newest fad.

Next I learned of a severe--EpiPen toting--allergy to seafood. This is false and ridiculous. I have been around seafood my entire life; my family inhales more than most. I have not had seafood more than four times in the past four years--my once yearly allotted tuna serving. I'm an on-again, off-again vegetarian, wanna-be vegan. Alarming and absurd. 

The saga continues. Opinions five, six, and seven will be sought out this week. More offices. More paperwork. More disbelief. More being thankful I'm insured. More convincing I'm allergic to fun.