I'm at home, sick with the stomach flu. I haven't been properly sick since the eighth grade. I mean, I've had my share of colds and fevers and "under-the-weather"s but I've been busy being an "adult". That basically means I popped some advil, ate my vitamin C and powered through.
"I have X amount of tests today, and X amounts of responsibilities I simply cannot delegate to someone else."
What a load of crap. Because the really adult thing to do would be to stay at home, avoid spreading the bug to other people, realize that missing a day of school isn't the end of the world, and heal. It's only ever children that play at "being adults" anyway.
Yesterday, halfway through second period, I developed a headache just above my right eyebrow. Then I found that my eyes couldn't focus and I couldn't read the paper in front of me. So I decided to get some fresh air but upon standing, my legs trembled and my head swam. I was more annoyed than anything. Didn't I have finals to study for? Didn't I have to prepare for an interview tomorrow? Didn't I have Lolita to read?
Yes. Yes, I did.
Finally, my friends knocked some sense into my bedraggled head and I wove drunkenly to the nurse. When I collapsed against the first door (first gateway to Hell), the awful artificial scent of "Autumn" assaulted my nostrils. I almost threw up right there. But because I have some kind of superhuman restraint, I staggered on into the nurse's office. I must have looked pretty bad, because she saw me and jumped a little bit.
"Oh dear," she said.
"hmm?" was the best I could manage. Probably not the most reassuring of responses.
After what felt like rigorous interrogation, she led me to a cot and inquired if I should like a blanket. I can't remember what I said, but she patted me on the leg, drew the curtains and left me, blanketless.
Lying on that cot was the singular worst experience of my life. I thought I was going to drown in my own vomit. It felt like my head weighed twice as much as my body. Waves of nausea rolled over me, although I was a reasonable temperature. That was just peachy. At my lowest, and I'm denied the comfort of saying: "ah, and I was racked with chills one moment and flames the next". Typical.
I clutched the blanket and pressed a corner against the offending eyebrow, but to no avail. I tried to drink from the cup the kindly nurse offered me, but somehow forgot how gravity works and succeeded only in pouring the damn thing down my neck.
At some point she called my mother and that horrible woman declared that she wanted to speak to me. Speak to me? Didn't she know I was busy turning into a vegetable?
"Wang Yuxiao (my Chinese name)!" her voice crackled on the phone.
"Hm-m-m-m?"
And the conversation went downhill from there.
My mother and the nurse agreed that I should probably go home and sleep it off. It's like they didn't even care that the devil was trying to steal my soul.
Anyways, a little while later, Sandra appeared with my stuff and agreed to drive me home during lunch. I told her I'd buy her weight in sushi. For whatever reason, she looked more concerned than grateful. When lunchtime rolled around, I tried to airily swing my legs off the cot and stride confidently off.
That isn't what happened.
Instead, I slid off the cot and fell into a crouching position. But Sandra wouldn't even let me appreciate being cat woman and helped me stand. She kept trying to support my arm, ignoring my indignant "I am a grown woman" declarations. She held my backpack for me, and led me out the school gates to the car. The security guard didn't even ask to see my ID card to check if I was allowed off campus. Racist.
When I finally got home, I got into my own, glorious, cushioned bed and fell into a deep slumber. Or would have, if not for the frequent trips to the bathroom. I won't go into the gorey details, but let me just say that I haven't thrown up in years and I think I forgot how. I'm a pretty quick learner, though.
The delusions were nice. I couldn't see anything at one point and I started sobbing because I was absolutely convinced I was dying of a brain tumor. Then I tried to eat a banana but my stomach wasn't having it. That was really heartbreaking. I also tried to tell my mother, when she got home, that I thought I was going bald. She thought that was the funniest thing ever, the heartless wench. She grabbed a handful of my hair and said:
"Bald? You? Look at all this hair? Ha! Ha!"
The Chinese have an awful sense of humor. Really hurtful.
This morning I woke up feeling...well, feeling pretty terrible, actually. But I felt coherent, and I felt purged. Pretty stressed, because I'm at home, blogging.
Jeez my head hurts.
But my mother brewed me a nice pot of coffee before she left so I guess she loves me after all.
