FLASHBACK THURSDAY - THE HAWAII SAGA OF 2007

**ORIGINALLY POSTED IN AUGUST 2007**

-OR- WHY I CAME BACK FROM HONOLULU NOT VERY TAN

Brad and I arrive in Hawaii around 4pm last Wednesday. We check into our hotel, and after some confusion and explanations of overbooking the hotel, we're given one of the huge suites at the top of one of the towers that is larger than my apartment. It, however, doesn't have a bed in it, so they roll up two roll away beds for us to sleep in, which honestly aren't that bad. For our "inconvenience," we get 2 free coupons for the dinner buffet, saving us $70. They also throw at us each a breakfast coupon, good for free breakfast every morning we're here at 2 of the different restaurants. Things are going well, and we haven't paid for a meal yet. We should have kept it that way.

Thursday we go to Lanikai beach, probably the nicest beach I've ever been to. Crystal clear water, white sand, few people, and tropical plants all around, complete with 2 little islands in the distance to add to the view. Upon our return to civilization, we're starving. Our first mistake is to stop at L&L Drive In, and my second is to order fried seafood. The third is to eat it all.

A couple of hours later, after our shower, we decide to go for a drive up into the mountains to check out some views. We get over by the University of Hawaii when I start feeling kinda gross. I'm not worried, I overeat frequently, and get mild bloating and wooziness on occasion. Going on winding mountain roads, however, doesn't help. After about 15 minutes I convince Brad that I'm feeling kinda gross and would rather lay down than explore right now, so he heads back to the hotel. I'm getting worse as the minutes pass. Right as we turn into downtown Waikiki, onto the strip with the thousands of tourists and Louis Vuitton stores and restaurants galore, I roll down the window and have a good, long puke. 

We stop at a stoplight and I puke again and again, right in front of the outdoor seating area for this restaurant. I couldn't help but think as I puked how funny I'd find this later, especially since there was one middle aged Japanese man who was enthralled with my sickness and couldn't tear his eyes away. All humor subsided, however, when I let out my last hurrah and it was combined with a fart...or what I hoped was merely a fart. I was so so wrong.

Suffice it to say, I had to wrap my jacket around my waist, waddle through our humongous hotel to the 30th floor and change my clothes. But it didn't stop there. We returned home around 6pm. I basically puked nonstop for the next 6 hours. When I say nonstop, I mean no puke and rest, no down time, no moments of calm and lacking in nausea. Complete six-hour constant nausea puke (and poo)-til-there's-nothing-left. The last hour nothing was even coming out. I just kept dry heaving. 

My experience with throwing up has never been pleasant, but at least it's been predictable. Usually I'll throw up once or twice, feel so much better, and pass out. Other times I'll throw up, feel better, and then feel bad again in about half an hour and do it all again. Once everything's out, I can relax and go to sleep or at least calm down for a bit. Never in my wildest dreams did I believe that I could throw up everything in my body, lose all fluids through two different ways, and STILL attempt to throw up. What horrible thing was left inside me to get out? IT'S ALL GONE, GODDAMNIT!

After 6 hours had passed, I began to go numb. My extremities tingled, like your feet do when they fall asleep. I couldn't stand up because I had no control over my legs. I couldn't even get to the bathroom anymore, I was a ball on the floor clutching a neverending cycle of trash cans, provided by the greatest and most understanding boyfriend ever. Once I realized I couldn't walk and could barely feel my fingers, I knew that something was horribly wrong. I'd never been this bad before. I told Brad to take me to the hospital.

I made a valiant effort to move, but knowing that we were on the 30th floor, that we were one of 4 towers in probably the largest hotel in the entire state, and we would have to cross the lobby, a bar, some restaurants, and an entire shopping plaza before even reaching the parking garage, I knew there was no way in my wildest dreams that I'd make it to the car without being wheeled. Discussion of a wheelchair from the front desk subsided, and the decision was made to call an ambulance.

By this time I could barely even turn over. I had managed somehow to get on the bed, probably at Brad's coaxing to get me out of the bathroom floor so the medics could more easily reach me. They arrived and started asking me questions. Although now I realize that they're supposed to talk to me and keep me conscious, I was getting immensely pissed off that they weren't just asking Brad. He was FINE. He could answer anything you wanted. Why do you care where I'm from? Can't he tell you where we ate? I don't even know what time it is, what day it is, or anything other than I want you to fucking put a goddamned IV in me and shoot me up with anti nausea medicine STAT.

I vaguely remember being wheeled through the service elevator and out through some weird non-public garage under the hotel into a waiting ambulance that happened to be 20 below zero and caused me to go into violent convulsive shivers, because of course I had a fever. They didn't even turn the sirens on for me. YOU NEED TO SPEED. THE ANTI NAUSEA MEDICINE ISN'T IN THIS CAR. IF I WERE ABLE TO MOVE I'D KILL YOU.

I was given an IV in the ambulance, but no medicine, just fluids (which I suppose I needed even more at that point). We arrived at the hospital, I was questioned some more (all the while looking at Brad and saying "ask him"), and after what seemed like forever, I was finally given some of my glorious anti-nausea medicine that worked after about 5 minutes. I could finally relax, even though I still couldn't feel my feet or hands.

I spent 3 hours in the emergency room. 2 of them were wonderful, filled with non-nauseated sleep. I was given 2 full IV bags of fluid, whatever the hell kind they put in those things, and some potassium because I'd lost a significant amount and they said that might have contributed to my tingles. It tasted like metamucil, but at this point I was willing to put anything in my body to make myself better. I didn't even flinch, with my horrible fear of needles, at the IV or the blood test. At that point I was willing to have them cut off my finger if it cured my illness.

Although the tingling and numbness hadn't completely subsided, the doctor assured me that now that I was hydrated and full of potassium I'd be fine and it would slowly go away. I was sent home with no-poo and no-puke prescriptions and passed the fuck out.

The next day we decided to go to Diamond Head. That involves hiking uphill in the sunlight for like 30 minutes each way. Little old ladies were passing me as I took breaks at the side of the trail. But I did it, and have the pictures to prove it. That pretty much did me in for the next 24 hours, and after a couple of throw up episodes (his were normal, sporadic, and not dehydrating) of his own, Brad and I slept THE ENTIRE DAY on Saturday. 

Now I'm home, somewhat weak and tired, but able to eat normal food. I'm also about 5lbs lighter. So much for gaining weight on vacation.