Upon seeing your face on your blog today (looking "doleful,") I remembered your story about the trek to the opera and throwing up in parks and on sidewalks all the way home from it; on the train, etc. My heart ached for you when I read it, and obviously it made an impression on me since I remembered it through the present. Maybe I remembered it because we had this experience last weekend. Not "me" but "he," -that's what I meant in this context when I said "we."
"He" started feeling dizzy upon waking up; I thought he had anxiety or just the normal high-strung disposition was at work. Sweaty at the train station. Queasy on the train. Then something close to two hours (in two different sessions) locked in the urine-stenched train bathrooms, all the way to Manhattan. Still in the bathroom he was when they announced we should gather our belongings. Odd though it was to touch his collection of plugged-in gadgets (his phone is like his other self), I put his electronics away and got the hats and gloves together. I didn't have to get employees to cut locks on the bathroom; I didn't have to pound on the door; he staggered out, making dagger-eyes at the people taking their time to arrange all their baggage before de-training, slowing his exit momentarily.
Made it up the escalator to the next level where he hung his beet-red face over a trash can for 1/2 hour, yellow bile discharged occasionally, as people stepped around him with leery eyes. Eventually I procured a complimentary plastic bag from Dunkin Donuts and had to leave him in the waiting area while I switched our return tickets out for a near-immediate (well, an hour or so later) ride home. So after staring at the floor and into the bag in the waiting area for that hour, a special attendant took us down some locked, secret passageways to the not-yet-crowded platform for priority boarding where more barfing into the D.D. bag took place. The attendant told us his wife had just gotten over the same thing. Thus ended the vomiting, although I've never seen a sadder sight - leaning up against the freight elevator, steps from the platform's edge, coughing into a plastic bag. The ride home was uneventful and much napping and recovering was done at home over the next few days. He lived out my nightmare - sick in a station of thousands of people, sick on a moving train ride of several hours' duration, sick in a latrine-like room with wafting odors of hundreds of pee and poo sessions, with the heater on to amplify the same. My hat is off to "he" for living through it.
I could have made this my own blog post. In fact, I'll copy it over there now. [I successfully copied it, as you can see.]
Well at least "he" wasn't alone in his agony on that ride. It helps having a loved one around when we are our less than selves. Poor thing.... I hope you don't come down with whatever it was.
ReplyDeleteNo one else got it. I'm not asking any questions, I'm just happy about it. Hmm... maybe the 100 people using the train bathroom(s) after him got it? YIKES, hope not.
Deleteand a marvelous post it made!
ReplyDeleteI should inspire more often, although there are reasonable attorneys fees.
Oh, you enjoyed that, did you? (emoticon with gritted teeth, raised eyebrows, and anxious look goes here.) Really, I wish I had more smilies at my disposal. I don't, so I'll make one: :-/
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