As the parasite invaded both my husband and my son the last few weeks, I began to get downright cocky about the fact that I hadn't so much as burped yet. I was sure that it wouldn't get me. I was religious about washing my hands after changing Alex's diapers, and when both the boys started to get better and I still hadn't manifested any symptoms, I really believed I was free and clear.
Then it got me. Saturday morning I woke up nauseated, by afternoon I had debilitating stomach cramps requiring me to make use of the Lamaze breathing that had seemed so useless during Alex's delivery. By Saturday night I'd thrown up everything I'd eaten all day. I spent all day Sunday either in the bathroom or lying in bed clutching my bottle of Pepto Bismol and moaning about how miserable I was. I also apologized profusely to John for having made fun of his being a wimp when he had the bug. I didn't know it felt like this!
Today, thanks to Imodium and witch hazel pads, I'm feeling much better. My tummy is still very, very angry, but I am mobile and it seems, on the mend. I hope.
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