chatoyante

I’ve pulled out my own IV two days in a row. Feels pretty badass, though today with the new line was not supposed to happen. I was looking for a picture of someone doing it (like Cillian Murphy) but started to feel sick looking at zombie pics.

It was heavenly; wonderful to be able to take a shower unimpeded and to wash my hair for the first time in a week and a half…

So my fiance and two of my (both physically located and emotionally) closest friends here and their significant others — along with some other friends — are at the Hollywood Bowl tonight enjoying a concert N. has been waiting for months to see (Pavement, Sonic Youth, No Age). I decide to do laundry. Keep in mind that I have an IV catheter in my arm and I’m puking all the time. I decide to do a second rinse cycle. While it’s spinning, I hear a weird noise and pass the bathroom and see that BLACK, FILTHY WATER is bubbling out of the toilet and onto the floor and has also filled the bathtub 3/4 way. I run and stop the washer and the toilet overflows and then subsides. I call the landlord, who is not home, and tells me to call Roto-Rooter.

Currently waiting for Roto-Rooter and trying not to puke and wondering just how toxic to me and my fetus this shit that I stepped in is. No one would be able to leave the Bowl anyway - they took the bus there - and I don’t want to ruin their evening anyway.

The water has subsided and now the bathtub is filled with filth. I fucking hate not being self-sufficient.

I realized that spending 45 minutes on the iPhone will induce a terrible bile vomiting jag, so the computer will have to wait until I feel well enough to get out of bed. Every time I feel better, though, I worry that the baby has died. Isn’t it creepy? It’s like an eating disorder, to feel while vomiting both that you wish you were dead and relief at the same time…

My miraculous kumquat, my beloved parasite; you have depleted me. I promise that if you just let me free occasionally, I will be able to feed you something other than Mac and Cheese….and give you the nutrients we both so desperately need. Catholicism runs deep; the feeling that I must have done something to deserve this and the almost equal feeling that surely my family’s luck must turn. Please be normal and safe. Protect me from what I want, indeed.

All I can do is lie here, feel nauseous, puke, feel dizzy, retch, repeat. The nausea is unrelenting. I sleep when I can. I force myself to eat and drink. I can barely look at a screen or read without retching. Writing is a struggle. I can’t take care of the house. N. is doing everything: working 10 hour days and running around to get things I need. I haven’t cashed freelance checks issued in June. I can’t help take care or my Mom. I worry what the starvation, dehydration, and antinausea drugs have wrought in this most critical stage of development. I worry about being like this at the weddings. I am a complete parasite. I am helpless. I cry and try to stop because I need every drop of moisture. I make N sleep in the living room so I don’t keep him awake and to protect him from the retching. I know he feels helpless, too. I feel guilty because I know my suffering is nothing compared to so many. I’m so sick of having to explain that home remedies will not work with this. I can tell that most people don’t understand; they think I’m overreacting. It’s like a constant hangover—your worst. It’s like being allergic to yourself. It’s debilitating on every level. There is no real relief. You can’t exercise or take your mind off of it. Mind over matter does not work. I’m starting to believe in a vengeful male god.