Last two, I promise
1. In my eighth month of pregnancy I thought I caught the flu. It wasn't. Unbeknownst to me, I had a pregnancy related ulcer and was throwing up blood. My hubby was on a skiing trip in Montreal (7 hours away before cell phones so therefore unreachable)

I barfed everywhere: Something that looked like soupy coffee grounds and smelled like hot iron down my bulgy front, behind the toilet, in the family room, in the fridge (I was hunting for a 7 Up). I was all alone, in no shape to clean and getting progessively weaker and more confused staggering around the house. My friend Stacy came over and took one look before bundling me off to hospital. I was fine after that and 10 liters of IV fluid.

But my poor husband came home a day later to a house bereft of spouse, no note where the hell I was and the entire place reeking of fermenting blood and puke. He said later he thought if I'd been abducted, he pitied the kidnappers.


2. I had a patient complaining of nausea. I duly told the doc and he ignored me. (I need a doctor's order to give anti-emetics) She pleaded for help and I asked again. He was eating his dinner and told me he'd see her in a minute. I stomped back into her room to try and comfort her when she asked me to get something on the floor next to her bed. I knelt down and just as I raised my head, she eeped and hurled right on the top of my head. It was like a shower of puke. Chunks were dripping down my face, lodged in my hair, rolling down my bosom, yuck.
The best part of this was I walked into the doctor's lounge and stood over Dr. Lazy. With vomity pieces of apple plopping into his burrito, I said completely deadpan, "I think Miss Walters needs something for nausea." Then I turned and marched out.
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Sun 22 Aug 2004, 16:23, Reply)