Oh. My. Word. I am so tired. So much for the diet that seemed to be working. Last night I came home with a puffy, distended stomach and major nausea. The kind of nausea that requires a quiet, dark room.
To make a long story short, I'll jump to the end. Me, puking my guts out into an empty kitty litter bucket which V had so thoughtfully placed by the side of the bed. She, so revolted by my puking, that her gag reflex kicked in. The two of us, then, in the bathroom, side by side, throwing up. Her into the toilet, me into the bucket. It was disgusting. Gross. And completely absurd.
After that, I could tolerate small amounts of light and noise. I was able to sleep.
This morning, I'm weak and exhausted. Hungry but scared to eat. We went by the doctor's office and made an appointment for tomorrow. In the meantime, I'll be sticking to chicken broth and water.
And, never, have I really wanted a true meal more than I want one right now. V's words of encouragement, "Maybe by next week, you can have a real meal."
Sigh. I hope so.