"The Stomach Flu" or How To Lose 4 Pounds in 7 Hours

Another blog from days gone by. But, since I just posted about the flu AND I'm presently trying to lose some weight, it seemed relevant. After re-reading it, I've decided to go lick some germ infested shopping cart handles. Because hitting my goal weight in 7-10 seems way more attractive than counting calories.

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January 19, 2007

The stomach flu blows...no pun intended. 

Last week we were preparing for Ryan's 6th birthday.  He was very excited about taking a special snack to school (Oreos and milk, yum!) and then having his birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese afterward.  We were making big plans, shopped for all the goodies for the goody bags, picked out the cake, the whole nine yards.  It was a very exciting time.  He was, after all, graduating from one whole hand to a hand plus.  We had talked about all the fabulous things that 5 had brought our way...reading, math, tying shoes, bike riding, Kindergarten, swimming, etc.  Five has been a big year for us.  And, it's our last 5.  I've said it before, 5 is magic.  There is nothing quite like 5 and, although we were sad to see it go, we were very excited for 6...all day school, taking the training wheels off, and all the other new things he will learn (hahaha  he just came into the office and asked me, "Mom, after nighttime is over and you're done sleeping, do all your calories go away and you start over?"  I wish.).

So, we're all excited about his birthday and we go to bed with visions of Chuck E. Cheese and bad pizza in our heads, when I awake to a mysterious whimper and leap from my bed to see what's the matter.  As I am making my way to the bathroom, where I expect to find Ryan trying to find his way there, too, without peeing his pants, I step in... something.  My first thought is that the cat, being as ancient as she is, has somehow not made it to the bathroom catbox in the night and has just peed on the floor.  I could only hope to be so lucky.  For, there, in the bathroom, is my baby, on the brink of turning 6, heaving his guts out.  So, now, I'm faced with the dilemma that generally only mothers deal with:  child throwing up in the toilet to console...child's puke on my feet...child's puke all over the floor in doorway blocking access to or from said room...likely chance that there is more puke somewhere else.  Which to deal with first???

I chose a combination approach.  As I'm trying to soothe him with my words, I peel my socks off (thank goodness my feet were cold when I went to bed; 100% cotton socks do a great job of absorbing as well as keeping the chunks of mostly digested fries from between my toes!) and then carefully move him to sitting on the side of the tub once he's finished.  Whew, two down.  As I'm getting him a washcloth, which I later use to clean the floor (multi-tasking!), I ask if he threw up in his bed at all or if he was able to make it almost to the bathroom.  He tells me he didn't throw up in bed.  I hear a host of demons burst into laughter at this so I assume it's worth checking out the bed, at least once I have the floor cleaned up enough that I can get there. 

Now, there are some real advantages to having laminate flooring in one's home.  Cleanup is one of them.  Soooo much easier and quicker than carpet. However...when a person, even a small, nearly 6 person, just leans forward a bit and throws up on it, it splatters to the ends of the earth.  Guh-ross and guh-narly is all I have to say about that.

Cleanup finished, I make my way into the bedroom to check on the bed. It's basically a crap shoot here because Alex is still sleeping so I can't really just turn the light on and do a thorough check.  I've got the hall light on and am trying to stay out of the beam of light that it casts in the room.  I feel the mattress.  Dry!  Ha ha, evil minions!  My young prince has been triumphant!  I grab the comforter to adjust the blankets before I bring him in to lay down again and the shrieks of glee rise around me once again.  No, he didn't throw up in his bed.  On the comforter, yes; but in the bed, no.  Heavy sigh (only after the initial "Eeeww!!!").  I clean myself up...again, and I go back in for the sleeping bag. 

I get the muffin set up on the floor of my room and return to his for the comforter.  God must have been with me on this trip because the light from His glory illuminated the other TWO places where my sweet prince had NOT been triumphant.  Once again, no, he hadn't thrown up IN bed, BUT he had thrown up on the floor next to the bed and onto a stuffed animal and a pair of his brother's shorts as well as throwing up next to the dresser on his way out of the room.  Uhhh...an hour later and I was finally finished.  20 minutes after that, we were racing to the bathroom again, thankfully, for the last time, though.

So, no school for Mr. Man on his big day.  No party.  It was a bummer.  We postponed the party to yesterday, though, and it turned out wonderfully.  We spent his birthday on the couch, looking at books and watching movies.  Maybe the kind of day we were supposed to have anyway.  Me and Mr. Man, snuggled on the couch while we moved from 5 to 6.

We've been lucky so far.  I'm the only other one in the house who has been fortunate enough to experience this stomach flu.  If I had to get it, though, I was confident in the knowledge that it would last for about an hour and a half and then I would sleep a lot and feel better.  No such luck.  Seven straight hours of being in the bathroom every 20-30 minutes will really take a lot out of you (not that you have any IN you anymore, but...).  I spent the next two days in bed, the first of which I was in a self-induced Vicodin coma, which, by the by, is not a bad way to spend a day.  I lost a total of 5 pounds; 4 of them in those first 7 hours.  I broke through the weight plateau I've been at for the last 9 months.  If I can exist on Saltines and gingerale I just may be able to keep it off.