November 5th, 2007
So I’ve become paranoid about my health. I am now on day four of feeling fine – but I’m sitting here on the computer instead of going out to the quilt shop for cloth to make my christmas tree skirt because my tummy is a little dodgy at the moment and I’m convinced I’m about to succumb to another fucking flu. I tell you, after months of being sick, feeling well takes on a whole new glow. I was practically running around yesterday, when I realized I’d been fine for days – in a row! – and, because I go to therapy school and everyone is nice there, I was actually indulged when I did, literally, run around waving my arms over my head.
Today for lunch I had fried rice and a yogurt and fruit smoothie, and something isn’t sitting right. So I’m sitting here, waiting to see what develops. I have a touchy tum at the best of times – I throw up more than anyone I know. This is why I could never become an alcoholic. The day long, punishing hangovers that involve dozens of barfs just totally prohibit it. But anyway – what am I talking about? Oh yes. Waiting to see if my secret identify as The Vomitor will emerge.
As a child, I remember a very strong sense that the worst thing in the world was throwing up. I would fight it as much as I could. I intensely hated to throw up and if I got a stomach bug would lie on the couch crying, anticipating the vomiting that I knew I couldn’t hold off forever. I would rather have writhed in nausea than barf. Now that I am an adult, I am much smarter and have come to know that however bad the process itself is, the feeling you get after is so worth it. I don’t fight it now. In fact, I occasionally try to “pep” talk myself in throwing up if I’m queasy, just so I can experience the relief of having it done with. I now think that the nausea is much worse than the vomiting.
Mind you, I have not actually reached the point of inducing vomiting with anything other than the smell of the toilet and my focused, intense will. It seems I can’t – I have tried, when the waiting just got too uncomfortable and I wanted it done with, but it seems I just can’t provoke a gag reflex. I know I have one – I gag brushing my teeth if the toothbrush touches my tongue more than half way back, for example. But somehow inserting that same toothbrush throatwards with the intention of inducing vomiting just doesn’t do it. I have no explanation for this, except that maybe I am unconsciously very contrary. So, in addition to not becoming an alcoholic, it seems I won’t be becoming a bulimic either.
I’m relieved, aren’t you?