No work tonight, for I am ill.
‘Coming out both ends’ as we say in this part of the world. I suspect that it is the revenge of last nights (cold) dinner. My normal takeaway was closed, so I had to try a new place – forced to because there was little else open. I was forced to eat something that I haven’t had for over two years now.
It appears that, with my normal diet of chicken salad wraps, my immune system has been a little out of practice, and so I now have nausea, flatulence, diarrhea and some rather painful vomiting. Brings back happy memories of being on anti-HIV medications.
I’m scrawling this message in that blissful 10 minutes after a really good vomit, when, for a short time, everything seems alright with the world.
My manager phoned me to ask if I needed anything. “A Bucket”, would have been the truthful reply.
Sure it’s “Anything I can do to help”, now – but when I get back to work it’ll be “Do you know how bad our sickness figures are? – do try not to be ill, there’s a good chap”, and “This is a formal/informal/written/verbal/warning/review/performance assessment”.
Still it’s not all bad, I was putting on a bit of weight, so the amount of *stuff* pouring out of me will be a benefit in the long run. Until then, I shall be wearing a path between bed and toilet, and lamely sipping water in order to replace the gallons of fluids I seem to be losing.
If you don’t hear from me in a week, send out a search party.
I wonder if I should call an ambulance?