Me and the Beast.

My new definition of true love is watching someone vomit in the passenger seat beside you and not shoving them out of the car. Or just stopping the car and running away forever. Or doing whatever else you can think of to escape, for the love of all things not regurgitated.

Thank God MB truly loves me.

That's why I am here today to recount this ever so graphic tale. I could just as easily have been lying in the street with my barf basin, clinging to what little dignity I think I have left.

I have blogged before about migraines. The Beast.
It is my affliction. And it's not a pretty one. Not by any stretch of the imagination.
There's a lot of retching and crying and vomiting and pain.

The beast just hits you all of a sudden sometimes and you can't stop it. Once you start vomiting, it can last for hours. Even when there's nothing left inside. Your body just keeps retching.
It's miserable. And exhausting. And super gross.

MB does quite the funny impression of me heaving then crying then heaving then crying then...well, you get the picture.
(He's so supportive.)

I'm surprised he still tolerates me after having seen me on my knees so many times (giggity). My fat ass is hot enough. When it's bent over the toilet or sticking up on the side of the road because I couldn't make it home to the toilet, it's even hotter.

So, I'm at work yesterday and all of a sudden, I feel the beast rearing it's ugly head. I take my meds but they do nothing. I know right away that I'll be retching soon. And there's no way to stop it.

I call MB to come get me.
Usually I try to drive myself home, but I just knew I couldn't. I've discovered, after years of migraines, that it is impossible to drive while retching. Just trust me on this one.

Of course, it takes him an hour and a half to come get me. I'm not complaining because I love him just for coming.
But, I do so wish I'd told him to hurry.

That way, I could have avoided the humiliation of having to vomit in front of my coworkers. Well, in the bathroom where all my coworkers could hear me. But, it might as well have been right in front of them.

I also could have avoided the humiliation of having to lay down in the restraint room of our little crisis unit so as to try and avoid the vomiting. Which didn't work, but whatever. I had to try something.
Of course, I was on camera the whole time. Sometimes it's really inconvenient to work in such a secure place. Can't a girl get some privacy once in a while? Geez.

Then MB came and it really got ugly.
I was on camera once again as MB drove me off the hospital grounds. There I am, in the passenger seat retching into my barf basin. Awesome.

That's bad enough. But then I had to try and avoid eye contact with pedestrians and fellow drivers who apparently have never seen someone vomit before. They were all staring and judging.

Wtf people? Show some respect and just look away for crying out loud.

Arghh. Such is the life of a migrainer.
When the beast comes, you have to try and fight it. But when you can't fight it, you just have to succumb. Wherever you are. Whatever you are doing.

At least I didn't have to jump out of a moving car and run into Popeyes to vomit. Only to spend an hour there, then another half hour in my friend's car, retching, as she kindly drove my sick ass home. I've totally had to do that.

I've really been blessed with vomit-tolerant friends and loved ones.
And I love all of them dearly.

Especially MB.
He really deserves an award for taking care of me.
As soon as I think of an appropriate award, I'm totally giving him one. Maybe something bacon related. He likes bacon.