Passing Gas

Last night... as I writhed and contemplated how I would kneel at the porcelain thrown, I was somewhat, pleasantly, surprised. I kept myself hydrated with Ginger Ale. I munched on saltines whenever the saliva folks were working overtime in my mouth and I figured I should have something to throw up - so I ate chicken noodle soup. I even snacked on some blueberries for color when the dastardly dead would finally ...ultimately happen.

I watched my face color fade to a dreary, 70s yellow with track lighting. I had to lay down to avoid the light-headed drunken walk. Despite all this I did not anticipate on a few things. The ache in my back as if a disc wanted freedom, the extra gas (urp!) I would expel through my mouth and... well the flatulence. I have a friend who says she doesn't fart. She just has flatulence. Either way... it is ... what it is.

So last night as I finally made peace with the fact that it was my turn to surrender to the flu... it turns out I was saved by loud tummy (intestine?) noise...and powerful, chi like ... well farts. The noise kept me up...and it was a tossy-turny kind of a night. BUT... I did not throw up. Eventually the chills left and I felt my body temperture go back to normal.

This might be too much information - but I like to remember it as my own little miracle. Seriously - I believe in miracles...even in the form of... gas. The burps and farts, as lady-like as they are... saved me... tender mercies baby... tender mercies.