I Think My Husband Had the Stomach Virus

My poor husband drank three beers on Friday night. Before bed, his stomach started to hurt, but he was smart enough not to tell me about it to prevent me from panicking. Then at 4:30 in the morning, he was talking to me about this and that, then he said he really felt like he had to puke. Of course, we assumed it was the three beers he took with his daily vitamin and then fish oil capsules, so I didn't worry. So then he went to the downstairs bathroom, made himself puke, and then it started to happen on its own...many times. He came back upstairs and told me his felt better. The next day his stomach still didn't feel "right." He was careful with what he ate, and basically slept all day. This started to make me wonder if it really was the three beers, and then I started to panic. I started to keep away from him as much as possible, and then started taking some leftover anti-nausea pills I had from my surgery last October. I went to bed on the couch (which he had sat on throughout the day) because I figured it was less-contaminated than the bad. Then in the middle of the night I woke up and felt "off." I ran to my drug drawer, took a Xanax, and thankfully fell asleep within minutes. Today he has more energy, and is spending the day on the couch, watching TV, and Skyping his brother. I'm making chicken noodle soup from scratch. I'm lying in wait. A constant feat travels underneath my facade.

Chicken is Very Scary

Did another exposure this evening...chicken fingers. VERY SCARY. Had to cut raw chicken, dip it in egg, put it in a bag with flour, touch it again, etc... I think the flour may have flown out somehow and I'm afraid I've contaminated the kitchen. Also afraid to eat them. Are they pink? Can't tell. Ate them anyway. SCARY.

Chocolate Penguins

Today I tutored my 9-year old reading comprehension student at his house. It was his birthday, and his housekeeper was making him a cake. It was beautiful--chocolate, and the top was covered in ice-blue, representing the ocean, and then she had made these beautiful little penguins which were placed on top. My student begged her to give me a penguin. Of course, this was terrorizing. I did not want to eat any food in their house--what if they were sick? What if they were recently sick? About to get sick? She told him that I could have one, and she picked one up off of the counter where she must have been making them, with her bare hand, and handed it to me. I thanked her. My student told me to eat it. I had to. How could I disappoint him in his innocence? How could I rebuff his kind gesture? So I smiled and tried a tiny bit. He caught me. He told me I didn't eat it. I showed him that I did. And then I worried and worried and worried.

Lack of Appetite = Panic

Having some panic today--don't know why. Wasn't hungry for lunch, but decided to eat at 4pm because that's when my husband was eating. After I ate, i started to get panicky. Why? I think because I was eating chicken in balsamic vinegar sauce, and I was afraid that the vinegar might trigger stomach upset. I ate the same thing for dinner the night before and I was fine. I've eating this dish several times before, and I was fine. But this is the nature of my anxiety. I tried to distract myself with housework and eventually it got better, and now it is better still.

Christmas and Willing To Do Anything

Today is Christmas. I am at home, trying to distract myself with anything that will take my mind off of the fear of nausea and vomiting. Nothing is really working. I want to go to church tonight. I'm afraid to because I may be exposed to stomach flu germs. I'm becoming more and more paralyzed, and going to bed earlier and earlier in the evenings because I'm so exhausted from constant fear and worry. I may have to take Xanax, but I am really trying not to. I am going to see my psychologist again in a little under two weeks, and I going to tell her that I am ready to do ANYTHING to get over this.

Sviat Vechir and Lessons

Today is Christmas Eve according to the Julian calendar, and Orthodox Christians around the world celebrate this date with a meatless dinner. This will be the first Christmas without my Baba, and although I am not yet ready to host the dinner this year, I will beginning next year, as I loved the tradition and want to continue it. For today, I will simply make two of the twelve traditional Ukrainian dishes: borscht, and kutia. The kutia will not be done in time, because I didn't realize it would have to boil for six hours, but it will be done before I go to bed tonight. Baba always told me that it had to boil "for a long time" which I thought was about four hours, but I looked it up in a recipe book today and it said six. If it doesn't work this time, I will just try again next year. Kutia is one of my favorite foods, and it is a ritual food. It is the first food that is to be eaten for Christmas Eve dinner. It is made from wheat berries, honey, and poppy seeds. Some people add nuts.

The dinner is to begin once the first star is spotted.

When I was young, one year my Baba told me that when she was younger, she and her siblings would take a spoon of kutia, and throw it at the ceiling. However many pieces stuck would signify how many years of good luck one would have. I loved this idea, and she told me to take a spoon of kutia--she was going to let me throw it at the ceiling. She said we could do it on the back porch, and we did. This exemplifies the way my Baba loved me, and how she taught me. She taught me by letting me do things. When she ironed, for example, she gave me a handkerchief to iron, because I wanted to be just like her. She didn't tell me I was too small, or that I would burn myself, or that it was too hard for me. I loved being at her house and being with her because of this, and so many more reasons.

Bike Accident--Part 1

In the summer of 2010, I think it was June, I had a bike accident. I don't know how it happened, but I just lost control of my bike and crashed down onto the concrete. I may have seen a car in the distance and reacted by over-breaking, but I'm really not sure. I knew that I was losing control of the bike, and then I felt my upper body his some part of the bike. I knew I was going to crash, and then my chest landed on the handlebars, and then I thought, "I am about to hit them again" and then I did, and then I was on the ground. I was trying to pick myself up and found it very hard, not because of pain, but just because it was hard to move, and I heard a woman ask me if I was ok. I looked up but couldn't look up further than the grass and sidewalk I was laying on, and tried to tell her to call 911. The words wouldn't come out. I was trying to say "call" but I couldn't get it out. I tried again with all of my strength to say the sentence and I did, but it was only as loud as a whisper. I thought that this might be the way that I was going to die--from a bike accident. It seemed senseless. As soon as she said she was calling for help, I felt better--I felt like there was a chance that I would be saved. I was able to take off my helmet so that I could lay my hands on top of it and then my forehead on top of my hands. I realized now that I did that to get the pressure off of my chest. Other people came up to me, and talked to me, telling me that I would be ok. And they talked to each other. One woman told another of an accident she was in, I forget what type...perhaps skiing...and the fact that she was standing there talking about it meant that she had survived. All of this gave me hope, and comforted me. I heard the sirens and when the ambulance arrived, I felt even more relieved.