Monday, March 24, 2008

I’ve been poisoned!

By food!

“This jerk chicken wrap is very disappointing,” I’d unwittingly understated to my friend, not realising the jerk perhaps referred to the convulsing it would have me doing a bit later. “It’s cold, it’s tasteless, but I will eat it all anyway.”

That was on Thursday night. By Sunday night, I had been able to eat no more than a couple of slices of pizza and three Weetabix. Hence, I had to forego Easter eggs and the Easter roast.

Within a couple of hours of having eaten, the vomiting had begun. I’d managed to make it home with only a couple of street vomits, and so began a long night of trying to lie as still as possible – the slightest shift in my position brought forth more of the yellow stuff. Between you and me, not all of it managed to make its way to the toilet in time.

"Do you think you might have had your drink spiked?" asks my Dad, ever the conspiracy theorist. "Lot's of ne'er-do-wells in that London."
"I wasn't even in London," I reply. "I was in a well-to-do Cathedral City."
"The English!" hisses my father.

When it came to venture home to my parents for Easter, I was not happy. A temperature of 102° and every muscle in my chest and stomach strained made me miserable enough as it was as the wind drove the marble-sized chunks of hail under the covering of Kilburn station and into my fed-up face.

Share a good vomit story with me.


anonymouscoworker said...

I believe I may have related this story to you before, but I'll try to do it again, if only for the challenge of brevity.

I once drank a gallon of milk on a dare/bet, and part of the wager included me keeping it down for a whole hour. I finished the last few gulps a minute or two short of the hour, and knew I would be vomiting within moments, so I rushed outside onto the front porch.

With almost no effort a geyser of now slightly warmer milk burst out of my mouth and nostrils while a child on a small bicycle pedaled in circles nearby.

When I was done, she pedaled closer, inspected me and my evacuation, looked me in the face and said, "I think you drank too much milk," and then pedaled away.

Curly said...

I vomited on Sunday morning too. It's the first time I'd ever thrown up bile on its own, it was a nice shade of yellow - which was strange because the retching was caused by blue drinks.

Will said...

Oh dear, get well soon. My vomiting tale was too long to comment in, so, short of inspiration as usual, I've blogged it over on the Goose. Thanks for the idea...

deanne said...

Hm; I threw up just-gone-down-so-still-cold beer on someone in a pub once (he bought me a new pint after, I'd thrown up on his back, and he thought I'd just spilt my pint).

I also threw up in the bathroom of my local pub, and as it caught me off guard, missed the toilet *entirely*.

When my flattie came down the stairs saying "Ew someone has thrown up ALL OVER THE FLOOR in the ladies *tut tut*" I faked disgust. The guilt wore me out (and the booze loosened my tongue - er, and stomach) and I told her two hours later "IT WAS MEEEE!"

(She - and our circle of friends - had guessed already anyway)

Chris said...

When I was five my parents took me to the Iron Bridge museum, one of those 'living' museum places. We were going round this riverside cottage when I somehow got seperated from my parents. I had a famously trigger happy stomach as a kid, I would throw up at the slightest provocation. As I worked out the person I had been following was not my Dad I began crying the unstoppable wail of five-year-old. I cried so much that I made myself sick.
My parents came running back to find me havine realised neither of them had me. I saw them coming and opened my arms for a big comforting hug and they stopped a few yards away and started laughing.
I had thrown up on a duck, and the aforementioned Mallard was waddling around unhappily with a back full of kiddie puke. Needless to say, my parents bring this story out every once in a while to humiliate me.

Shane said...

The Road to the Secret Diet.

Dancinfairy said...

After struggling to unlock the front door with a tampon one Christmas Eve I promtly lay on the sofa with my head hanging off the side. Unfortunately I then vomited and my friend gavity helped it go all up (or down I'm not sure how to describe it) my face and in my nose.

The following day, I threw up all over my Dad's kitchen whilst my Step Mum lovingly prepared Christmas Dinner.

My Dad has a picture of me in the depths of the worst hangover ever after refusing to eat anything other than one roast potato and takes great delight in using it as a screen saver and showing all my friends as revenge for the kitchen part.