I slept in late the Sunday following my near-death experience.
In defense of that Sunday: it was a fine day overall. Nothing horrific happened while I was conscious. Nothing.
But then, after The Amazing Race, I decided to take my medicine.
I had new medicine I'd picked up on Saturday. I hadn't taken it due to the near-death/Gilmore Girls marathon of that evening. I took it Sunday morning, and then, right after dinner (take with food, right?), I poured myself a gigantic glass of nature's best drink: milk, popped my daily antacid out of its little plastic tomb, and then opened my pill container and swallowed my dose of the evening.
This miracle pill is supposed to give me the perfect skin I had in high school, only now.
Is that too much to ask?
I drank my glass of milk. I went about my evening routine. I went to bed.
But then...
At 3:30 a.m.
I woke up.
At that point, I threw up all the food I ate that day. Then I threw up all the food I have ever eaten.
I tried to have a glass of water, when things seemed to have calmed down.
I bid the glass of water goodbye.
Then, I gave up and went to sleep. This was at the urgings of poor Mom, who had been woken from a sound sleep (and she was across the house from me) by me and my grotesque digestive attack.
In the morning, I woke up only to discover that I had, perhaps in mid-dream, decided I was a fish. My fish-self knew that breathing air would kill me. Instead, it was my lot to swallow water and push it through my gills. Except I wasn't in water, and I didn't have gills. So all I managed to do was fill my stomach with air.
After which I threw up.
So it went for the next two days.
It was unpleasant.
Meanwhile, we had no heat. No hot water. No stove. No nothing.
I was cold. All I wanted was a hot bath. Oh, and to stop throwing up.
Alas, I was out of luck.
You see, the side of the bottle of medicine said the following: Do Not Take With Milk. Do Not Take Within One Hour Of Taking Vitamins or Antacids.
And I did both. This, in addition to the large dose they had me take on the first day of being on the medicine, burned my stomach. And it hurt. Big time.
The Gas Man was coming on Wednesday. That was awesome. But, because when my family gets on a streak of bad stuff, more had to happen, right?
Mom walked down into the basement on Monday and found that our water heater (the one that mercifully wasn't working) had begun to leak water all over the basement. This might have been tragic--the kind of plumbing disaster that you see on TV sitcoms, where the person gets the wrench and tries to tighten the pipe, only to have water shoot into their face and flood their basement, kitchen, or the first floor of their home.
She turned off the water heater's supply of water and called the plumber.
Who was unavailable.
I know what you're thinking. "What else is new, Laura?" You ask. "When does a plumber come when you call him?"
And you would be right. But this guy is pretty good about getting back with you when you call, which is a first. Really, it was the reason Mr. Plumber couldn't come that was funny.
He was participating in a reality TV show.
"Seriously, Mom?" I asked when she told me. "This guy is America's Next Top Plumber?"
Not quite.
It seemed that Mr. Plumber's friends were getting their house redone by Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, and Mr. Plumber volunteered his services.
He had been awake until 4:00 a.m. the previous night, according to his wife/receptionist, and had been too tired to even go to the unveiling at 6:00 a.m., after however long he'd been keeping this schedule.
Mom understood.
I was cold.
Monday passed. Tuesday passed. Nothing much changed. I got used to washing my face/hair in freezing water, or, rather, part in freezing water, part in the water we heated up in Paul's $10.00 electric kettle/Ramen Noodle Maker.
Wednesday morning I drug myself out of bed and put on classy clothes for work. I watched the Gas Man as he came and filled the tank. Then I went to work.
Here is what happened when I left:
Mom had told Mr. Happy Gas Man to turn on the gas, as she wanted it to run. Usually, they leave it off after they fill it. For safety reasons. Mr. Happy Genius Gas Man filled the tank and left.
Mom attempted to light the furnace (the automatic furnace) by turning on the heat and fiddling with the temperature setting. Nothing happened.
She tried to fiddle with the stove, the little space heater/fireplace dealie. Nothing happened.
She went outside to discover a note affixed to the tank of gas, proclaiming that the gas was off for safety reasons. Because Mr. Happy Super-Genius Good Listener Gas Man had done such a good job doing as Mom asked...
She turned the gas on.
Then she tried to light the furnace again.
Meanwhile, America's Next Top Plumber had fixed the water heater problem in 15 seconds or less. Really. That's just how good of a plumber he is. Then, he said... "Since I'm here anyway, why don't I help you with that?"
And seconds later, the heat kicked on.
While he was at it, he yanked out the filter (since the filter light was on) and Mom was so horrified at what she saw that she sent Paul to the store for a new one faster than he could blink.
All is now well.
Unless you count my not being able to eat much of anything.
And my taking that Pepto Bismol stuff like candy.
Or that I was unable to eat any Halloween candy, not to mention dinner, for a week.
Sigh.
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