The First 48

When we set out for our visit to San Francisco, the entire process went off so seamlessly that instinctively, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. It did, almost 45 minutes after we arrived on Terra Firma Northern California.

I felt the first physical twinges when we were at the Avis Rental Car Counter at the SF Airport. I felt chilly and then overheated, my stomach churning with growing distress and my head was light. When queried, Fang expressed comparable distress. By the time we arrived at Marv and MeiMei's house in San Francisco, the nausea was overwhelming. When Marv flung open the grill to show us three racks of generously coated ribs with their meaty fumes billowing overhead, we both raced for the bathroom. For the next three hours, we took turns using the restroom until our stomachs were empty and we were reduced to sad dry heaving (nothing makes you feel more pathetic than when you're curled around a toilet, emitting helpless mews of a rejecting stomach).

Over the course of the night, we slept little and were up every few hours to make sure any drop of water in our stomach was good and surely forced out. It was a very bad night for both of us.

The source of this distress is squarely my fault. The luncheon choices on the plane were chicken, lasagna or salmon. Now, ever since I saw the 1970's drama, "Airport" (a Irwin Allen type epic where half the passengers and the crew on the plane eat fish for lunch, become violently ill and force the stewardess to land the plane), I have not ordered fish on a plane. For some reason, however, I thought today that the salmon was the healthiest choice and I wanted to be conscious of eating healthy before I gorged on Marv's ribs that evening. I should have obeyed my intuition.

Fang ordered the lasagna, which was lukewarm and unappetizing, so we split the salmon. Thus, the trap was set for 48 hours of distress.

By Sunday morning, we awoke with cramped stomachs, headaches, continued nausea and no appetite. We went out for breakfast, but we could barely manage a morsel. We came back and we curled up on the couch under a feather comforter and watched football all afternoon. I just wished (as people often do when they feel at their shittiest) that death would come and collect me. We had plans to go out to dinner and after being such lousy company to our hosts since our arrival, I wanted to go and treat them to dinner. We dressed and went out.

MeiMei had picked some trendy new eatery in the Hayes Valley called Absinthe (where, you guessed it, they served new variations of the once outlawed beverage). The cuisine was classic French bistro, the atmosphere was dark and moody and the tables were awash in chic, young hipsters. MeiMei had picked this place specifically for me because they had a diverse artisinal cheese menu. As we sat down, my stomach was definitely churning; as MeiMei read the menu aloud (as she is wont to do), I felt visibly green when she described the fois gras and beef cheeks; when the table next to us received their plates of rather pungent duck confit, I had to go to the bathroom and catch my breath. In the end I ordered french onion soup and a small cheese plate. The soup was so strong that I could barely take more than three bites. I couldn't eat more than two bites of the cheese (and this is where you know I was ill for I could eat cheese and only cheese everyday for the rest of my life). When Fang cut into his frisee salad topped by coddled duck egg, I had to go back to the bathroom where in rather unladylike fashion, I heaved what dinner I had eaten into the chic black toilet. Returning to the table and seeing my discomfort, Marv and MeiMei insisted we leave the restaurant. I felt terrible that I ruined the evening.

We returned home at 8:30 and I immediately went to bed. I immediately passed out and slept till 7:10 am. As my eyes snapped open, I thought, "Can I please feel better now? I have to go see my in-laws today and God help me, I need my strength for this."

I did feel slightly better but the nagging nausea and stomach cramps prevailed. I still had absolutely no appetite and I realized I had not eaten (or rather, kept anything down) for nearly 36 hours. Fang forced a yogurt on me. It tasted good. I had some tea. That was soothing. I wrote a nasty missive to United Airlines customer service. We packed up and went to my in-laws.

My in-laws are uber-elderly folks, but they're also of the same stock as the Aunts so they are spry and energetic and talkative. They needed to run many errands so we ferried them around to their various destinations. While at a local CVS Drug Store, I wandered back to the pharmacy and asked for a consultation. This being California, the pharmacist was considerate and helpful. When I asked for an over the counter elixir to resolve our ailing stomachs, he recommended Pepto-Bismol. I bought a large bottle and Fang and I took a shot each in the parking lot.

A few hours later, we took another one. At 4 pm, the clouds suddenly parted and we started to feel, well, normal again. As we started to drive back to Marv and MeiMei's house, I was suddenly seized by hunger--I insisted that we find a McDonald's so I could have a chocolate shake. Going down, it tasted like the most perfect foodstuff on planet Earth.

We're now firmly settled on the couch watching the Vikings/Bears game, about to enjoy the leftover ribs (in moderation, of course) and feeling ever so grateful for just feeling better.