So, this is something that's been going on since college. Every time I return home, I get sick. And it's getting worse.
Used to be, I'd just get a cold or something. Occasionally it would escalate into a mild bronchitis or pneumonia. I can deal with that. Really, if you're young and otherwise healthy, pneumonia's not all that bad.
But lately it's been something other than else. Three times in 1999 have I ventured home to Massachusetts, and three times have I returned with some new plague.
The first was way back in January. I had to go home to get my car inspected. The morning I left to drive back to DC, I felt a little off. By two hours into the trip, I felt a little feverish. Four hours in, and I was having deep meaningful conversations with Jesus, who happened to be sitting next to Elvis in my passenger seat.
Believe me, you ain't driven the New Jersey Turnpike until you've driven it in a 103 degree fever delerium. After four more hours of this, I double parked in front of my apartment, ran inside, puked, and asked my girlfriend if she would mind parking the car for me. I was not coherent for three days.
Last time was Thanksgiving. That wasn't so bad. Just a fever and, naturally, some more puking.
But this time was a doozy. We got back earlyish on Monday night. I felt fine, did some work, read a while. Woke up Tuesday after a fine refreshing sleep, and got up. I felt a little funny, but I always feel a little funny in the morning, so I paid it no mind.
I started minding when my OJ came back up to say howdy, though. Ok, here we go again, I thought. Well, a full day of losing fluid from all possible orifices left me lying fetal in bed, gasping in abdominal pain. Finally, my long suffering girlfriend returned, and realized something was seriously wrong when I started punctuating my usual "I'm sick" whining with requests that she might perhaps call some medical authorities and find out if I really was dying.
Despite snow, we managed to find our way to the GW hospital, where after a seemingly interminable wait they popped a needle in my arm and dripped three bags of magical hydrating fluid into me, along with some very mellowing drugs. Kudos to Ule ( Ulee? Ula? Something like that, I was heavily doped) for both her kind care and snazzy beret.
So, I'm better now, but believe you me, I don't think I'll be journeying home for a while.
Happy Y2K everyone.