The cousins reunion went well. Not nearly as many of us as we would have liked, but a lot of us, and a good time had by all.
Or, at least as far as I could tell. I was a little out of it, in that I’d been riding waves of nausea since the night before. That battle came to a climax just as we were trying to get the bill sorted out.
Once I’d gotten sick, I actually felt much better. That’s how it goes with me… once whatever is upsetting my system is expelled, everything returns to normal.
Or suppose it would have, if I had eaten something at that point and got my system reset.
But we were just getting ready to leave, so I didn’t.
So my sister and I got in the car to go to the next place, and I started riding the waves again. On a normal day I might have thought, “I’m riding in the car on an empty stomach, of course I don’t feel well” and taken steps to improve the situation, but in light of the morning’s progression, I didn’t naturally go there. When I felt limp and tired and noodly, on another day I might have thought, “Well, moron, it’s 3…4…5PM and you effectively haven’t eaten anything since last night; there’s a solution for that.” But again, in light of the way the morning had played out, I didn’t.
I was driving home from my sister’s place, tired and queasy and with my vision occasionally blurring when I realized that a diversion to my parents’ place was the smartest move I could make, travel-wise.
And I was on my way to their house is when something else occurred to me.
My system is wired such that I experience nausea when I’m empty.
Which is ack-bassward; when one is feeling queasy, one does not usually think that eating is the best idea. The solution is completely counter-intuitive. But I know this about myself. When I’m thinking clearly, I can solve my own issues.
If I hadn’t already gotten sick that day, I’d have been clear-minded about what I needed. I’d have eaten something. Instead, I continued to feel worse and worse until I was starting to think something must be really wrong with me and I couldn’t bear the idea of eating anything. Ever. Again.
Nothing was wrong with me. I’d eaten something that didn’t set right. Then I effectively fasted for a day, without benefit of preparation, prayer, or water.
Once I got to the ‘rents’ house, I eased my system back to life with saltines and ginger ale – you know, just in case it wasn’t just a need for sustenance – fell asleep in a chair until my mother suggested I go to bed, and sacked out at 9PM. I woke up twice in the night also feeling less than 100%, and in response I force-fed myself some more crackers and ginger ale. Eat. You’re just hungry. Eat.
Presto-chango. This morning I feel like a whole new person.
Dang, that’s good coffee. Mmm, toast and peanut butter.
Life is gooooood.