After months and months of anticipation, the date of our departure for our big trip to the U.S. was just two days away. We'd had a lovely pre-Xmas celebration with Paul's family and gone to bed with visions of equally fantastic times ahead of us in the States.
And then Ollie woke up vomiting at three in the morning. The poor little sweetheart vomited and vomited until 6.30 in the morning. I called work to let them know that I wouldn't make it in and managed to get Elliot off to school. And then Ollie and I settled back into bed for some much needed rest. Around 11am I woke up feeling more tired and washed out than before I went to bed, but got up and started packing and getting organised for our big flight. At some point Ollie woke up feeling hungry and a bit tired but seemingly over the worst of his bug. I, on the other hand, continued to feel worse and worse. And my tummy could take it no longer, and both ends of the system commenced evacuation. This would continue for many hours. At one point before Paul and I went to bed, I remember admitting defeat, "I don't know if I can get on the plane."
But then it stopped. I still felt wretched, but I could separate myself from the puke bucket/toilet and manage to pack a couple of items at a time before needing to lay down again. And somehow, neither Paul nor Elliot succumbed to the horrible gastro bugs, and we all managed to get to the airport, and nobody stopped me from getting on the plane despite the bags under my eyes and beads of perspiration on my forehead and upper lip.
Look out America, here we come!
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