Can you die from diarrhoea??
944 Words
“Honestly darling, you look fine” Gaz smiles, reassuring me.
I turn around and dead eye him with my resting b***h face before looking back into the mirror.
It’s really not a pretty sight.
After having to take a week off of work due to hugging the toilet and being genuinely concerned enough to Google if you could die from diarrhoea (turns out that technically yes, you can in a round-about way), it’s become obvious that this wasn’t a hangover; I’ve had some sort of stomach bug or virus.
I was just getting to the point where I was going to call the doctors for advice when a tiny dose of energy returned enough for me to wander downstairs and look at more than just same four boring walls that I’ve been staring at for the last 10 days.
My head was still pounding, I ached like hell and my stomach felt a bit like a washing machine still, but there’s been no vomit or diarrhoea for the past 6/7 hours. I got myself a glass of water and sipped it slowly while sat on the sofa watching boring day time TV, before deciding to run myself a bath to see if it would help my aching muscles relax.
I had just finished drying my hair in front of the mirror when Gaz got home from work to come straight upstairs to check on me.
He’d looked surprised to see me out of bed, but he kneeled down beside me and asked how I was feeling. The bath had helped in all fairness; my head ached a bit less and my muscles had loosened off somewhat, but my stomach was still iffy.
“Not as bad as I look” had been my response, which leads us up to the present..
My eyes are red and bloodshot from the constant wretching, my skin is awful – pale to the point of nearly see-through with several big red patches splattered randomly, I have huge purple bags under my eyes making it appear like I haven’t slept in weeks and because I’ve spent the last 10 days vomiting, sweating and feverish, several ugly looking spots have erupted over my forehead and chin.
My cheeks, eyes and lips have all swollen and as a result of this and all of the above; my face looks like a big, puffy, fat mess.
My hair looks clean (being as I’ve washed it), but it currently looks dull and lifeless, and it’s sitting there limp, slightly damp and be-draggled over my somewhat slumped shoulders.
I blink as I look at my reflection as a whole again; and I have to admit to myself that I honestly look terrible. Taking a deep breath, I’m suddenly hyper aware that Gaz is sat on the floor next to me, and despite his 9 hr shift, he looks fresh faced and amazing, and here I am looking vile.
My heart drops as I stare at myself, and I feel tears stinging the back of my eyes. What the hell is wrong with me?? I think, trying to stop myself from starting to cry. It’s no use; the tears spring to the front of my eyes and start to fall down my face. Through the mirror I see Gaz frown suddenly as he notices the tears. He pulls me into his body, “hey, what’s going on, why are you crying?” he asks, wrapping his arms tightly around me and hugging me.
As we both sit on the floor, still in front of the mirror, he keeps hugging me and stroking the top of my head as I sob in his arms, sniffing as my nose starts to run, “I don’t know” I reply honestly through pathetic little sobs.
I stopped crying as quickly as I had started, and upon doing so, Gaz released me from his arms and looked at me, wiping the drying tears from both of my cheeks with the back of his hand. “Feel better?” he asked, lowering his hands to mine and holding on to them both. I nodded, feeling bizarrely foolish “yeah – no idea what that was about” I reply, a sheepish grin on my face as I let out a little embarrassed chuckle.
He raises his eyebrows in response, “no, me neither” he replied, looking genuinely baffled as he shifts his weight from his knees to his feet and slowly standing up. He looks down, standing over me like the BFG, “do you want something to eat?” he asks.
I look into the mirror again, noting with irony that I look even worse after my crying fit and I consider the idea of food; now I think about it, I’m bloody starving! I mentally run over a list of things that my stomach thinks is a good idea. “Actually, I could just eat some noodles with cheese on top” I say, looking up and seeing his bewildered face.
He lets out a laugh in surprise, “okay my little weirdo, I’ll start getting that sorted, you get some fresh clothes on and I’ll meet you downstairs” he smiled.
I feel much more human when I’ve put on a clean top, leggings, spray some deodorant and brush my teeth. I still feel off it, but no-where near as bad as I did before my bath.
- Writer
