The following is an email I recently sent, copied word for word and pasted here. I have a feeling that some of you will know exactly what I'm talking about:
I regularly cough until I puke. Usually it's only a tiny bit, and most often nobody but me knows what has just happened. My husband is even clueless most of the time (I guess I'm a discrete puker). When this happens, I'll spit it out if I can, but if that's not a reasonable option, I just swallow it. Now, this isn't something I enjoy -- in fact, I can think of literally hundreds of things I'd rather do than swallow my own upchuck -- but it's something I've gotten used to over the years. I mean, what's a girl to do when she gags and throws up in her mouth in the middle of helping a customer at work?
Recently, I was doing my treatments when I started coughing... A LOT. I knew immediately that this was going to be a cough, gag, puke situation but when I reached for the box of tissues I always have next to me during treatments, I realized there was nothing there. The tissue box was gone. And before I could unhook my VEST in order to get up and find some more tissues, it happened. The vomit came, and it wasn't just a little bit of regurgitation. No, we're talking a shitload of puke, my friend. Much more than could be swallowed. In order to keep it from spewing everywhere, I immediately put both hands up to my face and covered my mouth. This left me hand-less so I couldn't detach myself from the VEST. And then it got worse: I had to cough again.
At this point, my husband walked into the room. He had no idea what was going on, but immediately recognized the look of panic on my face. Okay, so he probably didn't fully understand that it was a HONEY, I JUST BARFED IN MY MOUTH AND I DON'T HAVE ANY TISSUES AND IT'S TOO MUCH TO SWALLOW BUT I CAN'T FREE MYSELF FROM MY VEST AND IF I COUGH AGAIN OR EVEN BREATHE AT THIS POINT I'M GOING TO BLOW CHUNKS ALL OVER kind of look, but I'm pretty sure he got the gist. He began frantically looking for something -- ANYTHING -- for me to spit into, but I was running out of time. I could feel another cough working it's way up and before I could stop myself or even realize what I was doing, I spit into my hands. It filled both hands entirely and started to drip out onto the floor. My husband looked at me, quickly unhooked my VEST tubes, and shouted "RUUUNNNNN!"
And so I ran. I ran like I've never run before. It was like a scene from a movie: dodging furniture and skillfully leaping over baby toys. I don't think I've ever moved with such agility, such grace. I made it into the bathroom and victoriously dumped my vomit into the toilet. And that's when I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror: still wearing my VEST, puke dripping from my hands and a huge, dumb grin on my face. Lets just say it's a very good thing that 1) I'm not a prideful person, and 2) I'm married to a man who can witness his wife vomiting in her own hands, and still find her attractive. That's true love right there.
Thanks for that one, CF.