The Arrival Of The Hostile Alien Intestinal Bacteria

or, “The Day My Old Life Died”

Part Two in a series. (You can find Part One here.)

You know that old saying, that “fish and company start to stink after 3 days”? Well apparently the Hostile Alien Bacteria never got that memo. Because when they arrived they pulled right up onto my front lawn with their jumbo-sized recreational vehicle, unloaded some ratty old patio furniture, sat down, and immediately started smoking in their underwear, making it very clear that they weren’t going anywhere.

It all started off so innocently.

A week after my 35th birthday I got what turned out to be strep throat. So, okay, I did wait a few days before actually going to the doctor and getting some antibiotics, but compared to the rest of the story I’m about to tell you, that was some gold-medal quality self-care right there (for me, anyway.)

AND I was being all responsive and proactive about my health, and requested a different antibiotic than the one the doctor was going to prescribe, because I’d had problems with that one in the past.

So I was feeling pretty good about myself (you know, except for the sickness and all), when a few days later I began to have what we will just refer to here as, “intestinal distress”. But I thought, “Well, antibiotics do upset my stomach, so it’s probably just that,” and assumed that it would get better after I’d finished taking all the medicine.

And then I began to develop additional symptoms, like fevers, the shakes, and the inability to tolerate food. But I thought, “Well, it’s probably just the flu,” and figured that it would pass in a few days. (Are you seeing a pattern here?)

So finally, after 12 days in a row of diarrhea, fevers, shakes, and being unable to eat or drink anything, I began to think, “Hm-maybe I should go see the doctor again.” (Important Side Note: Apparently the most you should ever go without treating these symptoms is 3 days so, in the immortal words of Heather “Dooce” Armstrong: “BE YE NOT SO STUPID!”) Actually, what got me to the doctor-FINALLY!-was the fact that my husband was about to go out of town on business for a week, and by the Sunday before he left I started to hear a voice in my head that kept repeating, “You know he’s leaving tomorrow, and, so, just in case you have to be hospitalized, you should go find out what’s wrong with you.”

Never in life have I had a thought like that. Never. Ever. So clearly my poor body was waving red flags and shooting off warning flares wherever it could. However, even with my brain shouting “HOSPITALIZATION IS MOST LIKELY IMMINENT, DUMBASS! You maybe wanna DO something about that?!”, I still didn’t take the whole situation all that seriously.

And, OH, how I would come to regret that.

(To be continued)