A Brave New Year - Part III

No, I'm still not done. But at least, the frequency of poo hitting the fan kinda slowed down.

On Saturday, my Dad brought me some anti-emetica from the doc, because, while I was getting rehydrated, I also didn't really stop vomiting, up to the point where I actually went to my computer, gaming, and every once in a while just casually hitting pause, reaching over to the vomit bowl, expelling the tea and the zwieback, hitting resume, and continue playing. Thankfully, that stopped after a healthy dose of that stuff. By the way, if I develop a kidney failure and/or liver cirrhosis in the next two months, it will be because of that drug, because I had to guess on the right dosage part. But at least, I finally got the chance to get a good nights sleep. Or afternoon. I didn't really care, but it was a step up from "passing out" to "napping".
On Saturday afternoon, we also pinpointed the time of incubation for the virus to be about 30 hours. Because that was when my Dad came down with it, too. At least he was sensible enough to pass out in the middle of the bathroom, instead of banging his forehead.
Speaking of banged foreheads: By around Sunday I had a mini-neanderthal-brow springing up on the front, and the horn from the Thursday incident on the side. the nose ridge, especially between the eyes, was a picturesque shade of violet, branching out on my left nose side, and the cut just a millimeter next to the beginning of my eyebrows (hence the bleeding before). I regret not having shot a picture of it, because I totally could have saved it for blackmailing. ("See, Mr Police Officer? He/She/It totally kicked the crap outta me! Arrest'em!")

It's a wonder we didn't infect my sister, too. I attribute that to her very smart approach of "staying over at her boyfriend, coming home once daily. Then, feeding the cat and the budgie, verifying from a distance that Dad and I are both still breathing, and getting the hell out of here before any virus can sense her presence." Good, partly because Mom is still in the hospital, remember, and no way in hell we're dragging a highly contagious vomit-virus to a woman who just had her stomach cut open. (Well, and all the other sick people over there, I guess.)

After this horrible weekend was finally over, I had learned that:
-I lost seven kilos of weight. Considering I was already quite a skinny guy before, losing about ten percent of my body mass isn't that swell as the overweight in the audience might think. Also, I'm considering to model for the new Perfume "Anorèxique (Pour Homme)",
-my stomach muscles are so well trained now that I'm probably able to swallow walnuts whole and simply crush them afterwards,
-no matter how fat I get, it's established that I'm never, ever, EVER going for bulimia. Ever.

You know what? I'm STILL not done. Because, on Tuesday, I finally was healthy enough to get back to work, and to visit my mother. Who, as I arrived, had just had her second operation. Apparently, the totally overworked nurse staff wasn't able to constantly check on the wound if it's infected, until my mother angrily marched over to them on Monday night because the wound stank. Which was, as was discovered, a rampant infection, and the beginning of necrosis. And as I hurried over, because operation? What operation? The first thing she whispered to me was: "Look under my nightie."- Me: "What? Why?" She:"I wanna now how far they went." Because there was a chance they would remove her entire colon, and stuck her with an artificial exit. Thankfully, they didn't. But even then, she lasted the next four and a half weeks in the hospital because of that (In comparison, usually patients go home after three to five days of an appendectomy). After the second operation, they also stuck her with a vacuum pump, which helped nothing except giving her excruciating pain. The reason for doing this? This way, they don't have to change the dressing each day, only twice a week. Why thanks, assbags, to think of your patient and my mother just as another subject of cost-oriented optimization. (You can't really fault the nurses, to be honest. I've seen the eye circles of them, they were even bigger than mine. Hospital just needs at least doubling the nurses there, and fast.)

Epilogue.

-It is now the beginning of March, and only because our regular doctor insisted to change the therapy to old-fashioned, Mom's wound is starting to heal up.
-The week after I got better, my TV broke. And two additional weeks later, my Mom's TV.
-The gash in my left leg? Still not healed completely.
-Meanwhile, my sister and her boyfriend managed to journey to Poland for a quick vacation. Where they got utterly lost, and then their car broke down.
-Said sister also managed to visit the emergency room twice in February. Her back and shoulder are extremey overtaxed due to her monotone tasks at work, and on those two days, she wasn't able to move her arm or neck at all.
-By the way, have I mentioned Satyria's ex-boyfriend pressed charges against her because she allegedly assaulted and bodily injured him? I haven't? Because he did.
-The last six weeks, I've been pushing a 60 to 70 hour week, because Lord knows I haven't nearly pushed myself too far yet. First, I got up from twenty to thirty hours a week on work. (Between semesters, it's in the contract that I work longer, due to the "additional freetime available". May I laugh?) I worked about seven hours each day, followed by six hours of studying for another exam that I had to push off before to get the Exam From Hell out of my way. Now that that's over, after over ten weeks, I can finally rest for a while...Great. Now I've jinxed it. Oh well. If you'll excuse me, I have to find a nice comfy bomb shelter.

...preferably padded so I won't bang my head again.