This week has been a downward spiral into the pits of hell. On Sunday evening I went to bed early with aches, chills, and nausea. I kept telling Jesse, "I don't feel well. I don't fell well. Something's not right."
Sure enough, the next 30 hours were spent getting violently ill every 30-45 minutes. Literally, every 30-45 minutes. For 30 hours. My stomach just kept convulsing and I couldn't eat or drink anything. It was so bad that I told Jesse I couldn't watch the kids. He took the day off Tuesday.
By late Tuesday afternoon, I found myself completely disoriented and weak. Every time I tried to sit up, I became instantly dizzy. After speaking to the triage nurse, I made the first available appointment to come in to the office.
Thankfully my blood pressure and temperature were fine, but my resting heart rate was 120 bpm and my lips were cracked. The nurses spent the next two hours trying to administer IV fluids. Because I was so dehydrated, they couldn't get any veins. Multiple nurses and doctors came in to try and insert the IV in my arms and hands. The two times they were able to find a vein, the veins blew. I happen to be terrified of needles, so it's a good thing I was in and out of consciousness during these attempts.
I was eventually sent home with directions to sip a liter of Pedialyte over the next two hours, then proceed to the ER if my symptoms didn't improve. The doctor warned me that I would need at least three liters to rehydrate, but not to drink too quickly.
Over 24 hours later, I've managed to drink 1.5 liters and eat a few bites of food. My stomach is finally settling but my energy level is far from normal. Now we just pray that I'm the only victim in the family from whatever hell invaded my body.
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