On day six, still feeling extremely nauseous, I boarded a plane to go back home to Texas. And while I never get plane sick, this flight tested me in every way possible. I was freaking out thinking that I’d have to be the one person in the history of modern air travel that actually had to use the paper puke bag.
Maybe there is a healing power to being home. To being surrounded by family. To my mom’s cooking and the sheer desire to eat said cooking. A desire more powerful than any illness. It’s as if my body made a choice right then and there because I couldn’t NOT eat my mom’s food. So I ate...tentatively at first...then just the more mild things...then I was all in. I figured if I was going to feel sick after, then it was worth the price that I had to pay.
Long boring story short I ate and ate and ate and ate and more than made up for 5+ days of not eating. On my birthday Sly made me the best mushroom swiss burger ever, followed by a birthday (blueberry) pie for dessert. It was pure happiness on a plate, and I cannot tell you how happy it made me to just be able to eat a simple burger and a slice of blueberry pie. It was the best gift ever.
As terrible as it was to be sick, especially around the holidays and my birthday, it really made me step back and realize how thankful I am -- for family that loves me, for a husband that takes care of me, for kitties that keep me company while I’m puking, for my health. These are the simple things in life, the ones I tend to take for granted, and the ones that I treasure the most.