Yesterday I was okay… and then I really wasn’t okay…like almost a 911 call not okay. The previous evening (Alejandro’s birthday) the more acute pain crept in… a burning… like I imagine a 1949 Oldsmobile Rocket spinning out on the lining of my stomach would feel like. It fucking hurt. Ale turned eleven and I was certainly not going to intercept his birthday glory by going to the hospital on New Years Day (which in this house is Ale Day.)
We went from this cute little happy guy to this:
in 24 hours. I was unable to stop throwing up and I was unable to control my pain. I had 80 hours of food sitting in my stomach. I was beside myself in tears, and pain and rage. This is what being sick is… a downward spiral that leaves your son laying on the floor of a disinfected hospital room in the ED of the local hospital where people eat Frito’s in the waiting room while I vomit into ugly pink container after ugly pink container.
Diagnosis: Acute Gastroparesis flare. WOW! Really? Fucking genius.
Today was ok. I didn’t eat. I cannot eat. We are taking it hour by hour in terms of a Dartmouth admission. In the meantime today I spent day with a very very special friend, who gave me this:
A mantra bracelet… “Not all who wander are lost.” A firm reminder that I’m not lost… I’m just wandering… and wandering…. and wandering.