Thursday, March 7


Well, it happened.  Everyone I know has been sick in the last week.  This past weekend, Sol and I made our way up to Frankenmuth to work at an auction (fundraiser for this summer's mission trip to Guatemala).  We left our friends here in southwest Michigan... and, as it turns out, for good reason.  They all became violently ill with a nasty stomach flu. 

And while I was sorry they were sick, I thought --> Sol and I certainly can't afford to be sick... glad we're all the way on the other side of the state.

... [do you see where this is going?]

As it turns out, that nasty flu was more widespread than I thought.  It took my sister Amanda down on Monday.  Sol was sick on Tuesday, which [oh yes] means Melanie couldn't go to work.  Mama Mel went back to work Wednesday, feeling invincible, feeling on top of the world.

... [seriously, do you see where this is going?]

So there I was yesterday afternoon, sitting at my desk, diligently working and listening to Lou Monte radio on Pandora (think peppy Olive Garden songs), when all of a sudden that little twinge of nausea came creeping up my throat.  I leaned my head back and repeated to myself, "This is not happening."  And with that mantra, I scared that little twinge away.  And I continued working. 

Then that same nausea surfaced again, but this time it had grown to be 50x larger, and it was no longer a twinge of nausea... it was a typhoon wave of nausea that kept crashing into my esophagus, each crash making the sound "omg-this-is-the-end-I-am-going-to-die-and-I-can't-even-move."  Then the peppy Olive Garden songs quit playing on Pandora, and so began the soundtrack of Melanie's slow and painful death.  I sat there in my office, suffering the 2013 version of the Bubonic Plague, my face turning an odd shade of gray/green, as my computer blared "Torna a Surriento" at me (click HERE to listen, or use the video below). 

**I think the first peak of nausea hit around 1:20... the second hit around 2:26... **

Nothing makes you want to crawl into a hole and die more than terribly obnoxious Italian opera from which you can't escape due to paralysis by stomach flu.  If that's not a recognized medical diagnosis, ladies and gentlemen, I'll eat my socks.

I went home early from work yesterday
and spent the duration of the evening dying on the bathroom floor.
I did not go into work today. 

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