*if you don’t like to read blogs about vomit of any kind, best you don’t read this one
I generally consider myself to be a healthy ish person. Ok, so my gym card probably has cobwebs on it, and the last time I went for a run was somewhere in 2007, but I drink orange juice and eat bananas for breakfast, so that counts for something, right? I even take vitamins every few weeks, which I am sure staves off the worst illnesses. I buy plenty of fresh veg and make my own soups, lasagnes, casseroles. Healthy, right? But apparently spending far too much on a cute yoga outfit and a few courgettes does not protect one from the ravages of certain winter illnesses. And for someone who considers their immune system to be tip top, imagine my dismay last week when I discovered I was actually sick.
And I mean sick. Not weepy chick flick sick, but actual fever, actual pain – and dare I say it, actual vomit. Bleugh. Apparently Thursday was not a hangover after all – it was a warm up. And by Friday I was doing full scale stomach pyrotechnics. And sick is not a look I do well. Hello puffy red face, goodbye happiness of any kind. Goodbye desire to eat lasagne ever again. Seriously, you should never, ever have to see that stuff when it’s been in your stomach for 4 hours. It isn’t pretty.
After about 2 hours of legging it to the bathroom every 10 minutes, I began to realise I was actually sick. Some bastard bug had gotten into my system somehow and was turning my insides out. Talk about a digestive system fuck up. A few miserable phone calls to my mum (nurse) and my sister (doctor) later and they had confirmed what Google and I suspected – norovirus. Goddamn.
Norovirus is the one that they get on Holby City when they have to close down and quarantine a whole ward at a time. Quick acting, nasty and as contagious as they come, it is the most common winter vomiting disease. Apparently, between 600,000 and 1,000,000 people in the UK get it every year. Jeez, not only do I feel crappy, now I just feel cheap.
Confined to my bed (under normal circumstances a blessing, in this case not so much), I miserably clutched my duvet and stared weakly at my laptop, willing the sickness to pass. After three days, two rice krispie bars, 40+ hours of sleep, three High School Musical films (stop judging me, I love them) and 17 episodes of CSI (mmm Sara) later, I started to see the other side (of sickness, not life).
And this evening, though my whole abdomen still feels like it’s been tenderised with a mallet, I proclaimed myself healthy.
But why, I ask myself, did I fall sick in the first place? I guess we will never really know. I know my sporadic yoga habits won’t protect me from everything (dude, healthiness is as much a state of mind as anything yaa), and OJ and porridge won’t save you from the worst of diseases, but I totally thought I had some cover from common illnesses. Surely being healthy ish buys you out of a bugs? Clearly the apple a day logic is bullshit – unless I don’t want rickets or something. And who gets rickets in the UK these days anyway!? You don’t even see rickets on Grey’s Anatomy! So yeah, cheers Ma and Pa for your apple logic. I still got ill didn’t I?!
Though to be fair, I did lose a couple of pounds. Goodbye puffy, hello sexy.
Now where’s that gym card…?