Catfish

I'm not sure how many of you actually read this blog, but I'm sure that if you do, you must have read or heard something about me being food poisoned this weekend. The actual debate of whether it was food poisoning is still in the air, but I'm sticking with it. Yesterday, I went to a local restaurant (you can ask me the specifics later) that is frequented by people of all ages, though it can be said that they may benefit from having an "early bird" special. For some reason, when I was ordering, I chose to go with the baked Cajun catfish. I don't typically get the fish, especially if it's not fried, but something inclined me to order it. It may have been the desire to get a serving of fish oils, but I should have known that catfish is about the equivalent of a dog in nutritional value. The funny thing is I really just want a hamburger, so this whole ordeal could have been avoided.

So I ate the fish, thinking the whole time, this doesn't feel right. By "feel," I mean I wasn't sure if it had been completely cooked. I wasn't even that hungry to begin with, but for some reason I kept eating. After the meal I didn't think any more of it, cause I felt pretty okay, even after ingestion.

About three hours later, I started getting an odd bloated sensation in my gut. It wasn't like a gassy feeling, it was like it was full of something that was growing. I took an herbal digestive aid, and hoped for the best. Another hour passes, and I want to head to the gym so I can keep my schedule on track. Because I'm in to the sort of thing, I took a serving of a pre-workout supplement (again ask later for specifics. I don't want to get in trouble for trademark or anything due to criticism). Another mistake. The bloated feeling amplified and turned into massive stomach cramp. So here I am, trying to workout, doubled over in abdominal pain that comes and goes, so I have to wait about 2-3 minutes between sets.

I manage to finish, and then my friend Justin arrives at the gym because I suggested we could run together. We start our jog, and I'm thinking "If I can puke, maybe I'll feel better" knowing that I would be able to eat Thanksgiving leftovers later. We run maybe 1.3 miles, and my stomach contents are still intact. We make it back to my house, and we start pulling out the leftovers to be heated up. About now is when I feel that I could puke. I briskly walk to the bathroom and proceed to vomit. Vomit, however, would be an understatement (Justin overheard my expulsion and thought I was peeing, if that helps paint a picture). I wanted to be clear of whatever was setting camp in my stomach, but in the process of evacuation, I couldn't open my mouth side enough. Nor could I find a break in the action to take a breath of air.

So anyway, that happened, and then I ate leftovers, because, naturally, I felt better. Justin and I then left for a performance event held by the high school we graduated from. We were there maybe 20 minutes when I said I can't stay here any longer. He drove me, so we went back the house, and I laid on the couch in pain. My bodily functions had begun to fail, and found myself headed to the bathroom several times, until 9 o'clock when my stomach contents were, again, emptied. It wasn't my proudest moment, because when I get sick, I often black out or come close to fainting. So mid-process, I fell in the floor and have been working on cleaning the stains out of my clothes from last night.

So here I am, about 24 hours since eating the food, and I feel fine, other than a little taxes when walking around.

The reason that this may not be food poisoning is because my niece was sick a few evenings ago, and the incubation period would make since for me not to get sick until 3 days later. Also, I discovered that my brother had been violently ill all last night, after waking up before dawn. He's still out for the count at the moment, and he seems to have been hit harder than I did.

Regardless, I hate being sick.