Ah! It’s back! The well-loved “Death By:” post is back! Today on the agenda, we have food poisoning.
Allow me to set the scene:
My dear family and I are vacationing in the great National Park of Yosemite. (It actually was really cool and I enjoyed myself, but that doesn’t matter to this story.)
In an unfortunate misunderstanding, our rental house had been messed up, and we had to move houses half-way through our stay, and on moving day our new house wasn’t going to be available until the evening.
It was upon the moving day that this story takes place.
All was well. Dad had the car and was off somewhere with Oldest Brother–fly fishing, I believe–and the rest of us were riding the shuttle buses, moving from attraction to attraction and having a jolly good time.
It was lunch, so we went to a restaraunt in a plaza tourist town thingy. We got veggie burgers and fries.
As I was eating, I noted that my burger tasted kind of funny. I told Mom about this funny-tasting burger. She passed it off as a spice that I was unfamiliar with.
I shrugged it off and finished my lunch. We walked to the nearest shuttle station and waited.
I started to feel a bit queasy. I told Mom. She told me that, maybe, I had just eaten a little too much at lunch, and to sit down.
We boarded the shuttle. My sickness situation was getting serious. I tugged on Mom’s sleeve.
“I need a bag. I think I’m going to throw up,” I mumbled.
Mom quickly secured a bag and handed it to me, just in the nick of time–I projectile vomited into the bag.
The people around me either made noises of disgust or pity. We got off at a children’s museum, me vomiting periodically and Mom continuing to find new bags as I exhausted sack after sack.
When the storm of bile finally slowed, I layed down underneath a table in the children’s museum, wishing I had a bed.
Remember? We had no house until five in the evening; and Dad had the car.
Mom called Dad and had him come and get us in the car. I continued vomiting throughout this entire time, just less frequently as I had earlier.
There was discussion around me as to what could have caused this. We eventually settled on Food Poisoning. What else could it have been? There must have been something funky in my burger.
We finally got to the new rental house and I cat napped as my family ate in the other room. I had to run to the bathroom several times. Dad came in one time, and asked me if I needed anything.
I recall answering, quite melodramatically, “I need it to stop!”
It did stop by the next morning, through no action of my father’s. After all, what could he do?
The next morning I scarfed my breakfast, and thanked heaven that it stayed down.
That particular experience has stayed with me forever. It was QUITE traumatizing.
And I can hardly look at a black bean burger any more.