I’ve been sick. I thought I had the flu. Or permanent morning sickness despite my lack of uterus. But after some internet sleuthing (I’m not a doctor but I play one one the internet), the flu seemed most likely so I went with that…
About five days into my self-diagnosed flu I decided to ignore the constant nausea, fatigue and chills, and go for a run because I was confident the bit of muscles I’d accumulated were atrophying, and I had a half marathon coming up. I had to be ready. And I just knew if I ignored being sick, and pretended to feel better, it would all just go away.
Of course, I had to fool Hubs into thinking I was better because it was a Saturday, and he was home. And he’d been watching me like a hawk that morning, and asking me every five minutes how I felt. I didn’t quite feel okay, and I think Hubs knew that but I kept telling him that I felt okay, and I managed to make him believe it.
But it was far from the truth.
We got 1.11 miles from our house. I sat down on a curb and started to cry…
“I don’t feel good. Will you please run back home and get the car.”
What? I thought you said you felt better? You repeatedly told me you were okay.
“Well I thought I could fake it. I don’t know. I think maybe I was okay. For a few minutes.”
(in an exasperated-worried-wiggy voice)
I don’t even know when you are feeling better anymore. You are getting to be such a good liar it’s scary. Geesch.
(he sprinted back home to get the car, while I sat on the curb and cried)
A few days later when my self-diagnosed flu wasn’t getting better I went to my doctor. After some blood work, and criminal-style interrogation my doctor determined I had irritated the lining of my stomach.
Apparently taking large quantities of prescription NSAIDs for a couple of weeks, and then spending a day drinking huge amounts of mimosas, and forgetting to eat, will create the perfect gastric super storm.
So here I am, thirteen days later and I feel better (really Hubs, I do). I have to take medication, eat bland foods, and avoid alcohol for the next eight weeks (coincidentally, my half marathon is in eight weeks).
And I can run again. Although I’m convinced my muscles have completely melted away because I’m nine pounds lighter. I guess I’ll find out today when I try to run.
Before my gastric super storm forced me to take thirteen sedentary days, I was running ten-mile long runs. Today I’m just hoping to beat my two week record of 1.11mi, pass up the curbs, and make my way home.
Okay. That’s not totally true. I am actually hoping I can do at least five miles today, pass up the curbs and make it home on my own two feet. But sssh. Don’t tell Hubs… He is at work today, and he is already so worried he is making me take my phone on my run.