I'm Sick

4am. I roll over in the middle of the night and the room spins so severely that I just have to hang on and hope it will stop.

WTF? It is sudden and shocking.

Then I start to sweat so badly, I am cold if I pull the doona off me, but am hot if I pull the doona over me.

I try rolling onto my side again, and the room spins again, although not as badly as the first time, maybe it is because I am ready for it.

I get up and have a piss and put my towelling dressing gown on for the sweating and get back into bed.

At some point, I take my dressing gown off again as I was too hot.

8:30am. Otto jumps on the bed with me in it alone and I roll over to hug him and the room starts to spin again. Then I stretch out across the bed and lie on my stomach and really feel sick and the room spins and I think I am gonna vomit and I go to the bathroom and while the sensation of going-to-vomit lasts for some time, I don’t actually vomit.

Sam comes up stairs and finds me squatting in front of the toilet, moaning.

Sam gets me a bucket so I can lie in bed without the fear of vomiting over everything. Sam gets me headache tablets. 

Then he jokes that he hopes it wasn’t tasty cheesy off which he knocked the mould, or the chicken he bought on special at Coles because of its immanent use by date.

I tried to laugh, but I can’t.

Otto comes bouncing back upstairs while Sam is gazing at me. Sam tells me Bruno is under the bed sleeping still.

8:35am. I call Boris but she is on the tram and she says she has to call me back.

It’s raining outside.

9am. I stupidly, I rolled over and look under the bed to see Bruno, I have some idea about getting him up on the bed with me, as a big comfort bear, and everything spins and I start to vomit into my bucket and I vomit quite a few times but nothing really comes out. Bruno comes out from under the bed and stands next to me and watches me vomiting for a while and then he rushes out of the room and heads downstairs.

Sam comes upstairs saying something about Bruno coming downstairs to tell him something. “Are you all right?”

9.15am. Boris calls back. We chat about what has to be done. 

I fall asleep.

9:55am. I wake up to vomit again. It’s awful vomiting when the room is spinning. The heaving and retching go on for what seems like forever.

I can taste sesame seeds, or something like that. 

Ollie hops up on the bed and sleeps next to me. He climbs up onto my stomach and while I think that is not going to be good for me, it turns out it is. He is only light, after all.

Midday. Sam wakes me up to see if I’m okay.

I am wondering why he woke me up and he tells me he is dealing with all the things he has to do for the tenants to move into his rental. Some renters signed up at the first inspection.

I’m surprised it is midday.

12:10pm. I get up. I think I’m feeling better. I put on a T-shirt and as I’m pulling on my track pants the whole room starts to spin. I say out loud what the hell is wrong with me? I hold onto the bed end to steady myself.

I empty my sick bucket And I have a pee.

I sit on the side of the bed, but I don’t regain feeling as well as I did a few moments ago. Ollie is pestering me for pets.

12:15pm. I take my track pants off again and get back into bed.

12:20pm. Sam comes upstairs and says he’s got ginger so he can make congee. I say I want toast, but Sam insists it should be congee.

I feel a bit shaky again, it’s as if getting up and putting on my T-shirt and track pants took away all my energy, or caused a relapse of whatever the hell this is. I’m not really hungry, well it’s kind of odd it comes and goes.

I pull the doona up to my chin in a comforting way.

I think to myself, I’m not really frightened of dying, what the hell else is there left to do in life? I’m in Fitzroy where else would I want to be? I don’t feel bad about saying that, even though I am kind of joking, but half serious too. Of course, I don’t want to die, but you know I think about it, the only really bad thing would be leaving Sam, I don’t wanna leave him.

I think of David, who is always saying he is done with life, and I laugh.

Listen to me I’ve been sick for something like eight hours, imagine all those people who fight for life for the longest time, nyr, good for them.

And organ donation, what’s that about? Imagine if one of your organs had to live on in some thoroughly objectionable person? Could you imagine? If a conservative voter got my liver?

Funny the things you think when you are in the grip of illness.

12.45pm. I go downstairs and eat my conjee.

I still don’t feel great, but at least I feel better.

And a day off, the consolation prize to be sure.

Oh yes, I checked the other day, I don't know why, other than my eye surgery when I had a week off, I haven't had a sick day since 2019.

I googled the symptoms, really it could be anything from an inner ear infection to brain cancer and just about everything in between. Don't google your symptoms.