2003-11-24
Sickypoo
I stayed home today. Last night I went to book club and excused myself after sitting on the sofa and trembling for forty-five minutes. I'm not really sure how I managed to drive home, I was shaking so intensely, and I barely made it up the stairs to the bathroom before getting violently sick. Pulling out each of my fingernails one by one is preferable to throwing up for me, so I wasn't very happy.
The last time I had symptoms like this was several years ago, when I spent seven days at home in bed acting like an infant and feeling sorry for my sick self. I was feverish and shivery and I threw up every day for the entire week.
It wouldn't have been a big deal to lay in bed and drink orange juice, but when you're a teacher you can't just call school and say, "Hey, I'm sick and I'm not coming in, mmmkay?" No. You have to write up detailed lesson plans for the substitute teachers who hold the same exact degree as you do, but who are apparently incapable of managing a classroom for a few days without explicit instructions.
At the time, my computer was on the third floor of my house, and I was diligently typing away and shaking like a leaf. It was rather quiet downstairs, which in my house, isn't a good thing. It means the dogs are doing something bad, like ingesting socks or cans of soup.
I walked downstairs. Instinct told me to go to the kitchen. I braced myself, because I knew a pretty sight would not await me. I opened the swinging door and saw that the lazy susan cabinet was open. I keep all my baking goods in that cabinet. Once, Jake had opened that cabinet and chewed open my Tupperware container of sugar. The entire kitchen floor was covered in white powder, except for the random lick marks through which actual floor could be seen.
Jake decided to eat the one item in that cabinet that is completely deadly to dogs. Baking chocolate. He ate the entire friggin' package of it. I ran upstairs to grab the phone and discovered that he decided to wash the box of baking chocolate down with one or two rolls of toilet paper.
So here I am, on my deathbed, and now I have to take this dog to the emergency vet. I called my father, whining and sniveling, and begged him to come with me to take Jake in to have his stomach pumped. He was at my house in less than ten minutes, and off we went, with Jake in the back seat, tail wagging happily due to a stomach full of baking chocolate and toilet paper.
I left Jake there for the night, went back home and collapsed in bed. I had to get up the next day at the crack of ass to take my lesson plans to school and pick up the bottomless pit canine from the vet. The vet told me that the contents of his stomach they pumped looked remarkably like Fudge Royale ice cream.
It's a good thing I don't like Fudge Royale ice cream, because I'd never be able to eat it again.
joeparadox at 5:47 p.m.