Never mind the miles, my body said. You’re not going anywhere.
And so I sat, and Richard sat with me, in our motel room for another day and night.
Time was spent on the toilet, listening to podcasts and catching up on lost sleep and fluids.
Around 10 a.m., the unprepared cleaning lady came upon the recycling bucket I had puked in overnight. At the time, I was also on the toilet, so puking into the bin seemed like the only viable choice. I had put it on the porch before crawling back to bed so the smell might dissipate outside.
“Oh, God!” she said, then started frantically knocking on the door.
Richard got up and explained the situation. Once he said he would handle the mess, she calmed down.
Richard also went to the store to get Gatorade, Imodium and anything else I might attempt to ingest.
I started with fluids, eventually moved on to a plain tortilla and then graduated to peanut butter and banana by the end of the day.
And I kept it all down. Although, the abdominal pain took longer to leave me.
After the peanut butter and banana I thought the whole cycle might repeat, but I was able to sleep through the night.