In honor of Pukefest 2011 here's a story about how I learned the definition of vomit. And how I know to keep the puke in the toilet.
When I was in the fourth grade I was on a series of antibiotics. I don't remember what for but I remember they were serious business. I had to take them three times a day with food three in order to prevent nausea. That meant I was responsible for taking my lunchtime pill while I was at school. A responsibility I took very seriously. As seriously as fourth grader Katherine can.
So this one Thursday during the week of antibiotic treatment was Art Day. My second favorite day after Music Day. This Art Day I wore my super cute pink and black knit sweater to show how cool and artistic I was. And this Art Day I took my pill with my mediocre school lunch. Ok. Maybe a little before my lunch. On an empty stomach. Anyway, back to the turn of events. My class filed into the classroom and just as we took our seats I started to not feel so good. I excused myself to head to the little ladies' room. Then started to speed walk there. But before I reached my destination I projectile vomited all of my lunch, strangely I don't remember what it was, and my pill. Sitting in the puddle of excrement was the perfectly undigested black and pink pill. Which at that point I realized matched my bitchin' sweater perfectly.
Coming around the corner was the other fourth grade teacher of the school and I am thrilled to say I stopped him dead in his tracks. He stammered something about getting a janitor and when he ran off I snuck into my empty classroom to clean off my fashionable sweater- I had gotten some puke on my sleeves. Total bummer. Then my teacher found me and took me to the office to call my mother. She told the secretaries that I had "vomited in the hallway" and the administrative staff had a little clucking over the situation and then handed me the phone. What did she say I did? I thought I puked. Maybe something else happened? I dunno. My mother wasn't home so I left a message. When I got to the point in the message telling her what happened I paused, looked around, and regurgitated my new vocabulary. (Hahaaaa. See what I did there? How's a little word play for you? Zing!) Being nine years old I didn't put the word association together and thought I was being all encompassing by telling her I vomited instead of just puked. And my obvious feigned intelligence made the whole office staff chuckle. As if I wasn't embarrassed enough!
Mom came and got me and as soon as I got home, before I changed out of my sweater, I went to the dictionary and looked up the word "vomit." I was too embarrassed to ask anyone. More embarrassed than I was about the whole puking part. I'm sure you're all dying to know if I had to restart the antibiotic regiment. Well, I didn't. Whew, right? In fact, I think they changed the kind of pill so that wouldn't happen again. Because let's be real, it very well could have.
2 comments:
I have two stories to add to your Pukefest. When I was little (I think about 6 or 7) my brother and I were watching tv and I started to not feel good. I told him and he said I should go tell Mom & Dad. Well, they were in their room with the door closed. And locked. (pregnant pause) I knocked and told my mom I didn't feel good. I don't remember what Mom said but she didn't come out of the room to see what was wrong with me. I horked right in front of their bedroom door. Ha! Story #2 is more similar to yours, in that it was an antibiotic-on-an-empty-stomach situation. When Ryan and I were living in Fairfax, I went to a 24 hr urgent care facility to get treated for a UTI. It was in the middle of the night and the limited staff were mostly trying to deal with a drunk teenager who was being given fluids until he was sober enough to take to jail. Anywho, they finally get around to giving me the first dose of the medication, but unfortunately for me they don't have my paperwork done so I can leave. So I'm sitting there and sitting there. I start to feel queasy. The good news is, I made it to the bathroom down the hall before my dinner reappeared. The bad news, the sink was out of order, so I couldn't even rinse the rotten taste out of my mouth. Then when I told the nurse I was fine with the medication, it was just having taken it on an empty stomach that made me nauseated, she seemed confused as to how I could possibly have an empty stomach at 4 am. I was like, just give me the damn prescription so I can leave. The end.
Sweet color coordination with your bitchin' sweater and the antibiotic pill. And only you would be more embarrassed about using a word than about projectile vomiting...
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