Yakking Yesterday

I hate throwing up. LOATHE it. There is something about getting your face really close to a toilet, then having to deal with the rebound splash, and the saliva that abundantly flows, and the gagging, and eye watering, chest heaving; just EVERYTHING, that makes me ill even thinking about it. Purging has never been an issue for me in my eating disorder, probably solely because I abhor nothing more than said above.

But yesterday.
Yesterday I just could not get away from puke. It was like an unwelcome house guest that parks it on your sofa and then poops in your toilet and clogs it. And hogs the remote. In other words, smothers you with its gross company. Get it?

It started in the afternoon, while I was waiting for Doc P, my ED doc. I was kinda pouting because I was totes being ignored and had been waiting like an entire era in there, probably while they dealt with someone more important than me, who I deduced to be the Puking Person next door. I could hear her retching. Loudly. And groaning. And a few curses. And scrambling nurses. All while I waited. Quite impatiently. And I thought, “What do I need to do to get some attention from them?” Puke? Faint? Have a heart attack? Do the Macarena? …And the pukage length and volume of the poor soul next to me was, like, worthy of an Olympic medal. It was really grossing me out, because the exam room they were in is one that I am often placed in, and I just thought, “Eewwwys. Um. Totes gonna refuse that room from now on!”
So yeah. Finally, finally, the doctor sees me. Says she is “concerned,” draws my labs, and scoots me on my way.  The end.

Later that day, I had an appt with The Ferr Bear, my psychiatrist. I saw him directly at 6 pm, and he is in the heart of downtown SLC, and so getting there during rush hour was not entirely the easiest or most calming thing I had to do. I kind of hate everybody else on the road but me, because I feel like they all suck at driving. Everybody but me. I’m serious. It’s, like a legit issue I have. But Brandon was going with me, so he was driving, and Mom had made dinner for us, only we sat down to eat when we needed to be leaving, and so I literally shoveled in my chicken and potatoes and green beans (just kidding I left the green beans on my plate, NO THANKS) in 4 minutes. I swear. I timed myself. And then we booked it out the door to make it on time.

It was starting to snow, and everyone was trying to get home from work, and the freeways were awful, and I was having an anxiety attack, and the food in my tummy was like, “Yeah, I wanna peace out,” and I just thought, “Holy no. Oh crap. It’s going to happen. I am going to puke up an entire bucket o’ yuck, right here.” So I scrambled around in the backseat until I found a crumpled up plastic grocery bag, held it open in front of me, and started to do the preliminary hiccups that come before the storm of stomach contents. I tried reaaaaaal hard to keep it in. I focused on the road, kept my eyes in front of me. I blasted cold air on my face. I prayed to the Car Sick Gods to keep in my cals, because I needed them. And then – and then – they stayed in! No puking for me! I still felt a tad uneasy though, so I kept the sack with me and scurried into Da Ferr Bear’s office. I still felt nauseous, and my anxiety was still totally molesting me. Throwing up was still definitely something I felt could happen, and retching up my stomach contents on my psychiatrist’s lap was definitely not an aspiration of mine. Funny, I know, odd, yes; but true.

After our sesh was over, I wandered into the bathroom and had a major #3, all while keeping the sack open in front of me, ready to puke. AGAIN. But I didn’t. And I was happy. Due to all the reasons in the first paragraph.

But then we started driving home. And I was still having anxiety. And then the car made me sick again. And I came home and was suddenly and violently involved in unintentional pukage. And I felt horrible. HORRIBLE. …But slightly grateful that my stomach waited to revolt against me in the privacy of my own home. That was nice.

I totally lost dinner. And my T is making me MAKE IT UP. With Boost.
That’ll pry make me want to yak
AGAIN.

I blame it on Puking Person in the exam room yesterday. She started it.
Pfffft.