I have been laid up with what my sister referred to as THE DEATH COLD. Not those colds with a couple of days of sniffling and a headache. No, I'm talking about the cold variety where you pretty much need to crawl into bed and sleep for 4 days while your body alternates between feverish bouts of sheet-drenching sweats, and bone-jolting chills where you huddle under a down comforter and pray for death to come swiftly. The kind of cold where you lose track of how much Tylenol you've choked down, but figure Poison Control doesn't need to be notified since the bottle of 500 pills isn't empty yet. The kind of cold that makes you wish your kids would spontaneously and mysteriously lose their voices because EVERY SOUND they generate threatens to burst your eardrums.
Well, something tipped things over the edge the other night, and whether it was the Tylenol, Sudafed, Thera-Flu or the codeine cough suppressant I took before bed, or some combination of any of the above, I'm not sure. But I awoke about 3 a.m., sweating profusely and feeling a wee bit queasy. I got out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. After flipping on the light, I debated hanging out on my knees in front of the toilet...waiting, but I suppose I decided I could will it to pass and so I figured I'd, ahem, use the facilities while I was there. You know, just because I like to be efficient like that. And here's where the whole drinking thing comes in. E heard a huge thud in the bathroom, and I came to, lying on the cold floor...with my britches around my ankles. And in my stupor I actually thought to myself, Is this what it's like to be completely sloshed? and Hey, this cold floor feels really good on my face. I got myself on my feet and staggered out of the bathroom and I thought I collapsed back on my side of the bed, but later realized I fell crosswise at the foot of the bed, face down, with my legs dangling off. I think E was sitting upright in bed repeatedly asking me if I was okay. I think I moaned "noooo".
So there it is. If waking up on the floor, hoping not to puke on yourself, and wondering if you forgot your britches, is what it's like to imbibe, I'm glad I don't. I'm very, very glad I don't. And thanks to mom and dad for bringing me up right and teaching me to always pull up my britches.
4 comments:
Hope you are feeling better today, and that you don't have any after-effects of your meeting with the floor.
Yeah, if that's anything close to being drunk, I'm very, very glad we were raised the way we were.
However, I do have an experience of accidentally taking 2 percocets (4 times my normal dose) although I think that experience was closer to being high than being drunk. :P
Andrea :)
That's not what it's like to drink.
That would be what it's like to drink waaaaaay too much.
Ohh I feel your pain. But I have to admit the whole britches thing ... had me feeling really sorry for you while at the same time had me laughing... with you. I hope you get better soon, you can't be sick for the Twilight movie!!!
What I should have taught you was the benefit of living close to the rents so when the worst gets a hold on you, you've got someone to peel you off the floor or even better keep you from ending up on the floor in the first place.
And.....I hope you were wearing a clean pair of underwear just in case........!
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