Ever have one of those days where everything you eat turns to shit?

Today was one of those days in the Aza household. Well it started yesterday and continued into today and is in fact still happening right now. I think Monday night was one of the worst nights I’ve ever been though in my life. The fever, the coughing/hacking, the green putrid pus like shit coming out of my chest, the projectile vomiting…….the horror, the horror.

Yeah I know, you’re probably asking yourself the same thing I did “Who in the hell projectile vomits with a chest cold???” I guess it was a cross between two things, A/ I’d stressed my abdominal muscles so badly with violent coughing spells all evening and B/ At dinner when I’d cough I didn’t want to spit the shit out right there in the middle of the restaurant and couldn’t go running to the bathroom every 5 seconds so down it went. Ewwww, is right!

Here’s my play by play of Monday and Tuesday (the short version)….

11am: D and I went to the grocery store to put in an order for my dad’s cake. I felt fine.
12pm: D and I lay down for a nap, since he’s still on the overnight shifts. He’s got to get some rest before he goes back to work tonight after we take dad to dinner.
Between 12 and 4pm: I wake up a dozen or so times coughing and burning up- each time my chest feels a little “thicker” and more deeply congested.
4:30pm: I get up feeling like crap but have talked myself into believing it’s just from an un-restful sleep and maybe one cigarette too many. I wake D up to get a shower before we take dad to dinner.
4:45pm: I go pick up dad’s birthday cake and some over the counter medicine. My chest is starting to hurt like hell. I’m thinking there’s a good chance something is wrong.
6:30pm: We load up and head to St. Augustine for dinner. The trip is long and I’m in the back seat hacking the entire way.
Between 7:30pm and 9pm: They have dinner at the Santa Maria, I sit and watch trying not to ruin the evening by looking increasingly pathetic.
10:30pm: We get home. I firmly believe at this point that I have the plague.
11pm: D goes to work, I get in bed and screw around on the laptop. I know I'm sick, I pray it won't get worse.
1am: I officially feel like shit. I can not stop coughing and my temp is at 102 with no signs of coming down.
Between 1am and 3am: On and off I call D at work or he calls me. I am steady going downhill.
Between 3:15am and 4am: The projectile vomiting begins. All of the green chest shit I swallowed at dinner (and the one roll I forced myself to eat) is now down the drain. I am sitting in a heap in front of my bathroom cabinet praying for death.
4:30am: D takes a lunch break, comes home and brings me a ton of medicine to ease the cough and stop the vomiting. Oh, and Gatorade too.
Between 5am and 9am: I roll around in a fever, nausea and coughing fit induced delusion. It feels like one of those creepy 60’s acid tripping flashback scenes you see in the movies. During a few lucid moments I consider going to the hospital. I can’t hold down fluids and am dehydrating.
9:30am: I can’t stand it anymore. I call D and ask him to come home and take me to the doctor.
10:30am: D and I are sitting in an exam room telling my doctor everything that has transpired. We are both trying to understand how something this severe could have come on in four hours.
11:15am: I still can’t pee. The doctor wants to do a UA and I still can’t freaking pee. Every time they give me water it comes right back up.
11:45pm: D, the doctor and the nurse go into a huddle. The doctor says it’s “Acute Bronchitis knocking on pneumonia’s door” (whatever the hell that means) and thinks it might be a good idea to have me admitted due to the dehydration and fever. (I can think of much better reasons for having me "admitted".)
12:15pm: Someone comes up with the brilliant idea of sticking a needle in my ass cheek filled with phenergan to stop the vomiting. Because well, we all know how much Aza loves being stuck with needles, and when she goes home and back to bed, rolling around in fever and sickness just isn’t enough- her ass should hurt real bad too!
12:45pm: My ass hurts and Thank you God, I’ve peed and want to go home right now! The doctor tells D if the vomiting continues to take me to the E.R. post haste for fluids. Again, because we all know how much Aza fucking loves needles.
1:30pm: I am at my pharmacy filling the script for mega antibiotics and giving my doctors note explaining why I won’t be in today (or tomorrow according to the note).
Between 2pm and 5:30pm: I’m in bed, I feel terrible, the fever is at 101, and my ass hurts. D has taken my dad out to look at riding lawnmowers (that’s what he wanted for his birthday). D is in a nice way trying to keep himself and my dad out of my hair while I try to sleep off the phenergan and evil sickness.
Somewhere around 8pm: Green shit starts coming out of my head. The plague is now on the move from my lungs and stomach, to my sinuses. Fucking great.
Between 8pm and now: I’ve rested on and off, this fever still won’t break, my head feels like it’s going to explode making my ears pop and my ass still hurts. To top it off, I broke my dad’s only mercury thermometer sometime in the night.

So here I sit, back from shopping at an online store that sells mercury thermometers. On the upside, I do feel progress; I’m not coughing nearly as much. If I can get rid of the fever and the head congestion lets up a little I’ll probably go to work later this afternoon. Obviously going to class isn’t going to happen this morning. Yesterday while on the mower expedition D was kind enough to drop off a doctor’s note to my professor. Evidently Prof. W thinks I’m faking based on what D told to me. “He said he wasn’t expecting you in class anyway tomorrow for the test because you told him a few days ago you were working. I wanted to slap him, Aza. He was acting like this was all a big plan you hatched to get out of taking that test.” My response? Oh fucking well. If I were the vicious sort I’d go to school today and cough on his doorknob. “Enjoy the plague Prof. W.”