sorry everyone…I am having to tell this story in pieces, because I am remarkably weak still.

So I gathered all the strength I had, and propelled myself to the front door, dragging my trashcan behind me. I thought I was going straight down the hallways, but the wall came right at me again. I used all my strength to get to the door and flip out the chain lock.

Then I sat in spinning, sweat-soaking misery until Chris arrived. I was getting cold because I was so wet.

It wasn’t very long, but every moment took a lot of concentration. When I heard chris turning the lock I called out, “Watch out, I’m right here.”

I didn’t want him to hit me with the door. I needed to maintain my sense of space in order not to spin out again.

He stopped entirely. “It’s okay,” I said. “Just don’t hit me with the door.”

He came in carefully and leaned down over me. I tried to open my eyes. I really wanted to see his face; but the room started spinning again and I had to shut them again.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. He had no idea.

“Everything is spinning! It’s spinning and it won’t stop. It’s making me sick.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Umm…” It was hard for me to think. “I need to see a doctor. I need your help.”

“Yes, you need to see a doctor.”

I was shaking from cold and sickness at this point. He looked at me and said, “You need to get to bed.”

“I have to go to the bathroom.” It was true. I had had to go since I first woke up. But it didn’t seem possible. At the different stations of the apartment i had ended up in, I had contemplated this situation among the other dilemmas before me. How could I possibly take care of this? While vomiting, it’s hard to remain in control of my bodily functions. I contemplated going in my pants, but thought I should save that for a last resort.

Good thing. Chris helped me to the bathroom. He got me on my feet. At first I lurched way over to the side, but he got a firm hold on me, and helped me to the toilet. I pulled my pants down, sat down and vomited into my faithful trash can some more.

There is a lot of vomit in this story. I am sure it is not that much fun to read about but it was less fun to be the protagonist.

You can, in fact, relieve yourself and vomit at the same time. I gave myself fully over to being sick, but the other just sort of took care of itself. Then I breathed for a while. Breathing was a very deliberate activity.

Wiping myself seemed impossible. But I thought about it, and decided that I must. I could move my hand and feet slowly without disturbing the stillness. But my head couldn’t be moved. Raising myself up to complete this task took some courage. But in the end I leaned into the can again and simultaneously took care of my needs.

But puling my pants up again was realy beyond. As soon as I could talk, when the sickness subsided, I called for Chris. He helped me to my bed, although I collapsed half in and half out. I was shivering, and he immediately covered my with an extra blanket.

That bed felt so good, but I was cold. Chris was trying to call Kaiser, and was on hold for quite a while. He said I had to get under the blankets in bed, because I had to get warm. He helped push me in.

Even while I was being sick, the bed felt so good I never wanted to move again. The pillow was heaven, the blankets felt so good and warm. Still on hold, Chris stuck a thermometer in my mouth. “that can’t be right….”

He took my temp again…”94.7..This must be malfunctioning…”
I said, “I’m cold.”

He could see I was shivering.

He finally got through to the doctor. “Baby?” he said. “I’ve got an appointment for 45 minutes from now. Do you think you can make it if I drive you to the doctor’s in my car?”

There was a challenge. I didn’t know. This pillow felt very nice.”I don’t know.”

“What should I do baby?”

“I don’t know.” I thought some more. Maybe…”Go get the car ready, and I will see.”

I concentrated very hard. I had made it to the phone because I had to. I’d gotten to the chain lock because i had to. What would this involve? I would simply be sick the whole way. Could I throw up for the 15 minutes it would take to drive there? But what about in the waiting room? Doctors always made you wait. Did they give precedence to vomiting patients? I suspected not. How long would they make me wait?

Oh this pillow felt good.

I envisioned the path to the car. I would have to ride in the elevator. How would I do that? If I had to concentrate so hard on keeping a still room from moving, how would I do in a room that actually was moving?

It seemed unlikely that I would actually be able to do this.

Chris came back. He saw me with my eyes screwed shut, shaking with chills. “I don’t think you can make it in the car.”

“I think you’re right.”

“I’m gonna call 911. After all, they did say that I should do that if this was an emergency.”

He went into the other room to call 911. I lay there and imagined being magically whisked off to someplace that would make me feel better. I pictured a helicopter, with me being strapped into a bed and swaying at the end of a rope.

Swaying made me start to feel spinny again, so I concentrated on feeling still. No, there would not be a helicopter. There would be an ambulance, and a gurney. They would lift me onto the gurney.

Oooh…Moving. That would be bad. Riding in a car. Maybe they would give me morphine or something. What did they do, anyway?

Just breathe. THink of peace. Peace. Still. Still.

I heard the sirens. “Hear that baby? They are coming for you.” Chris was taking good care of me.

They were coming.