I threw up my guts twelve times, or something close to that, it's really easy to lose count, and I was so thirsty I got a little too excited when they finally let me drink--added one more time onto there, but it was worth it.
I pleaded with God to make it stop, and really prayed for the first time in months. I thought He was punishing me for something; in my defense I was running a low grade fever and my tongue was getting dry. But, well, it didn't stop anyway, not for nearly nine hours, I think. (And that's just the throwing up.)
I'm glad that I have short hair and a mom.
I slept in bursts of fifteen minutes, but each time I woke up I assumed I'd been dead for at least a day.
I've never been so sick in my life. I didn't even have time to be lonely and sad.
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