After Friday's blog post, I went back to bed and slept pretty much all day long. I woke up on Saturday morning feeling rested, although I still required four doses of Pepto-Bismol before I could go on with my day.
Band practice started at 4:00 p.m., so I figured I'd be up for it if I took it easy all day long. I got dressed and noticed that my jeans fit loosely, even though I'd just gotten them out of the dryer. Hmmm.
My husband asked me how I felt.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because you look terrible," he said. Wow, thanks for that.
I did have a pallor that any goth chick would envy, but I was feeling better, I thought. Of course, once I got to practice, I realized that I hadn't taken into account how much energy it takes to sing hard rock songs. I stood in my usual spot for the first three songs, but after that I had to maneuver over to the edge of the couch so I could lean or sit. I requested a break after the first ten songs so I could lie on the floor for a while and recuperate.
The band and I had a discussion about how incredibly difficult it must be for performers with a drug or alcohol addiction to go onstage and perform, considering how tough I was having it with just a little intestinal bug. Our consensus: just say no.
By the time I'd consumed my liter-and-a-half of water, I'd hydrated myself back to relative normalcy. In fact, I even went out to dinner after practice and had a small meal.
On Sunday, I woke up almost back at square one. I loaded up on OTC pharmaceuticals until I could safely move about.
I had promised to make a lasagna and a big pan of baked ziti to take to a Ronald McDonald House dinner that evening, so I forced myself to leave the house and go to the grocery store to get the ingredients. I shuffled through the store like a zombie, picking up food items on my list. I then numbly circled the produce section looking in vain for an eggplant, the last thing I needed for my ziti recipe. I finally found a produce employee who spoke English and knew what an eggplant was. He started to lead me to where the eggplants should be, then realized there were none there. He checked the stockroom and returned to tell me that they were "waiting for a truck." I, however, was in no mood to wait for the truck.
I went through the checkout line and put my groceries in the car. Knowing that I had another grocery store stop ahead of me, I pried a bottle of Gatorade out of one of the bags and slugged down the whole thing. It made me feel marginally better. At the next store, I bought the world's worst looking eggplant and a can of chicken noodle soup, then went home to eat the soup and try to find the will to prepare two enormous entrees.
Somehow I managed to successfully produce both dishes, drive across town with them, and socialize with my club members for an hour or so (although I didn't eat).
Today I'm pretty much back to normal. I hadn't had any caffeine for four days, so this morning's green tea kind of made my heart race, but otherwise I think I'm fine. However, I'll NEVER be eating at the cafeteria across the street from my office again.