To say that I was sick during the last few days is akin to saying that, every now and again, it could possibly be a little chilly in December in Upstate New York. An understatement of such epic proportions that Satan himself would need to crane his neck and gaze downward to the abyss in order to catch even a fleeting glimpse of such clever wordplay.

The Dark Lord aside, I am feeling much better.

Perhaps a catharsis is necessary. This was more than an illness. This was a punishment. I’m not sure who or what I wronged, let alone to what degree I insulted them/it, but the retribution of this “little 48-hour bug” was so swift and complete that I considered adopting religion. Clearly, I was hallucinating.

Here’s the timeline. At 3:00pm or so on December 30th…New Year’s Eve Eve, if you will, I was feeling a little “off.” I was at Silver Bay and we were preparing for our New Year’s Eve Brunch. I found myself in the kitchen helping the staff prepare Sticky Buns. (Aside: These were not merely sticky buns, but some sort of gift from high atop Mount Olympus. Ambrosia would be like eating dirt, in comparison.) As I watched everyone roll out dough, add butter, brown sugar, walnuts, etc., I was suddenly conflicted. By all accounts, I should have been practically drooling; scheming ways to steal these Sticky Buns and horde them for myself. Instead, I was scheming ways to leave without any one noticing. Deciding that honesty is the best policy (strange coming from me, I know, but as I said, I was sick) I told everyone that I wasn’t feeling well and retired to my room. The subsequent eight hours are somewhat a blur, a feverish, hallucinatory, hellish blur, punctuated by the occasional trip to the rest room to expel whatever lunch remained in my system (which, as it turns out, was none). I have vague recollections of people stopping in to ask how I was doing and if they could get me anything. Evidently, my typical response was, “Death, please.” Even in sickness, I remain funny and obnoxious. In all this time, I couldn’t eat or drink. I tried consuming water but my body decided it was too rough to handle. After eight or so hours of this, I finally decided that the hospital was the place for me.

I don’t want you to think that I’m weak-willed or anything like that. But what with the diabetes and the not eating for a third of a day, I thought swallowing my pride and seeking professional help was a better alternative than death. Call me crazy. So, Jocelyn, ever the forward thinker, grabbed a garbage can and her car keys and off to Ticonderoga we went. With only a single episode of violent vomiting en route, we strolled into the ER at 1:45am. Shockingly, (but not at all shockingly) no one else was there. The woman working the admittance desk took my information (which she typed using only two fingers for she must have been that efficient) and I met the nurse in the next room. She assured me that it was only the flu, and the doctor was on his way down. I waited…and waited…and then, waited some more. Considering this was the North Country, in the middle of the night, in a snowstorm, and I was the only person in the ER, it made perfect sense that I laid there as long as I did. But eventually, he saw fit to grace me with his presence and was, I’ll admit, very nice. He said they were going to put me on an IV of Saline to help with the dehydration and do some blood work. “No problem!” I thought. The nurse came back in and said, “We have a very nice lady who has to do only two more IV’s for her certification. Would it be all right if she did your IV?”

Now, let’s pause for a second. Let’s just take into account that I was very sick, it was very late, and I, clearly, am an idiot. Right then…continuing on:

“Sure!” I said! The would-be nurse came down and seemed very nice. I started to become nervous when she began asking questions like, “Do I need this thing?” and “How does this part connect again?” but I convinced myself she was just being thorough and careful.

My ass.

Once everything was prepared, I turned my head away and bore down into the pain. She complimented me on my “excellent veins” and asked if I was ready. “Go for it,” I said. Hearing phrases like, “Oops” and sounds like, “Hmm…” are things one never wants to hear in an ER. After what seemed like hours, I was told they were going to try again. “Oh, goodie!” I thought. This time, the real nurse tried and was successful without incident. In these cases, one can never hear “I’m sorry” quite enough.

The rest of the stay was mostly standard stuff. They neglected to warm the saline before administering it, making my arm feel freakishly cold. They gave me this awesome anti-nausea drug. The doctor came back, gave me some prescriptions, and sent me on my way.

All in all, it was a fantastic way to end 2007. It could have been worse though, I could have remained so tired that I fell asleep at 8:30pm on New Year’s Eve. That would have been totally lame…