biologically imposed hunger strike

"You have three modes right now: cranky, puking, or asleep."
-Leo, to me, on Saturday night.

It's true. But there's a damn good reason why ...

I felt generally queasy on Thursday night when Leo and I sat down to dinner, so I picked at a few bites and then gave up.

I woke up in a ball of sweat at 1:42 a.m. and made a mad dash for the bathroon, where I proceeded to be sick from both ends. That continued about once every 90 minutes until 10 a.m. I opted against going to work when I stepped on the scale and saw I was down 6 lbs overnight. When I spiked a fever of 102 around 1 p.m., I made an appointment for urgent care. The soonest they could see me— 7:50 p.m.

I checked in at 7:35. Two hours, two immodium AD tablets, a shot of phentergan (anti-nausea drug), and 500 cc's of IV fluid later, I was still feeling weak, but Leo drove me home and proceeded to take care of me for the next two days. Thankfully, the nausea didn't return and I didn't have to resort to using the (chilled) promethgan suppositories. I'm still taking the immodium and making baby steps toward solid foods. After sleeping an average of 14 hours per day for the last 72 hours, my energy's back and my mood is approaching normal.

I miss food. And as I said to Leo on Friday, I'm not cut out for a hunger strike. Ever.