Memorial Day started like any other holiday, and then:
My uncle died unexpectedly.
A long-time friend visited from out-of-state.
My gastrointestinal system locked down (like never before).
Throughout the day I had grown increasingly nauseous…I took the pills and elixirs that were supposed to help, but in the wee hours of the morning, I was at a ‘9’ on a Scale of One to Puke. In addition, I was running a low-grade fever from all the sludge that was in my system refusing to move out.
A few years ago I had a pill endoscopy that records your innards and all it’s actions for eight hours. The results of my recording were boring to watch…the camera never left my stomach. When your stomach doesn’t expand or move, what goes in just sets there and rots–leaving you at a 9 on the Puke Scale, with no relief.
After 12 hours of miserableness, I took a sip of Iberogast and was able to tip the scale and ‘spill the beans’–but the relief was only temporary. As I lay in misery, I wondered about my upcoming trip to the other side of the world…being miserable in the comfort of your own home is vastly different than on a plan or somewhere with spotty water and electricity. As my nauseousness increased, my dreams of getting out of the country for the summer started fading.
I had purposed and planned to not have a another doctor’s visit–I’d been checked out and given the go-ahead, but I knew, unless there was medical intervention, I wouldn’t be able to finish out the school year, let alone travel. My primary care physician wasn’t in…I feared the on-call doctor would explain away my nauseousness as ‘the flu’, but he didn’t. He prescribed a gastroprokinetic that I’d taken years prior, but had stopped because one of the possible side effects from long-term use was a permanent movement disorder that involved a sort of clucking/smacking action. He wished me well on my travels. After about two days of very limited food intake, the nauseousness subsided and my stomach actually growled.