Got food poisoning last night at 2 am after Taco Tuesday.
It’s only happened a few times in my life, but when it does, it triggers the memories of when I got salmonella while on a 2-week cross-country trip from Virginia to LAX.
After a hearty egg breakfast in Charleston, I continued down to Kings Bay Georgia to see a guy friend for dinner. That evening, I started puking. At this guy’s house. So embarrassing. And vulnerable. And nothing you can do about it. Helpless. The puking and other symptoms continued and intensified as the evening went on.
It progressed to a relentless cycle, with suffering waves crashing down on me every 15 minutes. We debated if each round would be the last, because, how much longer could this go on for? There was surely an end, wasn’t there? After pushing it for as long as we could to see if the symptoms would end on their own, I found myself in the emergency room at 2 am.
When I got there, they immediately started an antibiotic and fluids, and within an hour the torment dissipated completely, replaced by peace and calm and clarity. They said if I didn’t come in, that the infection would have just progressed into… you know what.
It was a pretty serious infection but so easy to cure. That was the first time that I really appreciated the blessings of living in an era of medical progress and having easy access to emergency care. People of the olden days often died of very simple infections that could have been easily cured in modern times.
The next day, I jumped back on the road with a new appreciation of the gift of good health and timely intervention. It was a bummer that the whole time I spent with my guy friend was while I was puking my brains out. I hope he doesn’t remember me as the girl who stopped in to puke and then left. He probably does. But I was on a schedule.
Once I got to LAX, I boarded a plane for Japan. I was 24 years old.
