Saturday night Mommy went out to eat with her children, grandchildren, and the ones who put the thingee in the bujeengee that makes babies. She had gone on Thursday for a birthday dinner with Daddy and her brother and sister-in-law and on Friday for a birthday lunch with Daddy and her son. I can't say for sure if what happened on Sunday was because the birthday angels were punishing her for over indulging in her birthday, or if the dog angels were punishing her for leaving us for a few hours over three days, like the talent angels have punished Lindsay Lohan after her totally awesome performance in Herbie Fully Loaded by making her sick, but whatever it was it wasn't good.
Early Sunday morning Mommy got out of bed and hurried to the bathroom. Now, if you know my Mommy and her bad artificial knees you know she hurries like a penguin being chased across the ice by a polar bear. She made it to the bathroom and womited, She crawled back into bed, then, a short while later, gave an encore performance. then kept on going all morning until I woke up Daddy, nudging him, and saying "dude your wife has been puking all morning, you might want to check it out."
Daddy got up and Mommy said she did not feel good at all. Daddy went out and got her some Ginger Ale and Saltines and some Charlemagne tea. I don't know why. We still have chicken and rice from the last time I got sick. I told Mommy I could make her some but she said she didn't want it. Well guess what? Neither do I. But when I'm sick it's all "it doesn't matter if you want to eat it it's good for you." Geesh.
Daddy gave her some Ginger Ale and she sipped it. I sat in the chair watching her because that's what Mommy does when I'm sick. She sits there. And looks at me. Waiting for me to finish what I'm eating. The difference? I can't pick Mommy up, spin her butt around, make her face the other way, and tell her to stay.
Both Pocket and I could tell Mommy wasn't feeling well so we stayed close to her all day. She kept womiting and continued to slowly rush to the bathroom. She also had terrible back pain. Daddy tried to put heat on it but nothing worked. I Googled back pain and vomiting. I found a site that stated to relax, it would give me a reasonable answer to her health problems. Then it told me Mommy was going to die. I was quite frightened but Pocket typed in swollen toe and eye lash shedding and got the same answer.
Mommy, despite her illness, continued her Tanner duties. Luckily she had Pup of the Week almost done Saturday. But there are some subtle clues to her illness. The beat this caption contest for this week is titled beat this question. The question of the week is dated for January 2, 2012, She made a comment on Hattie's page that was "Baaaaruuuuuggggggghhhhh!"
By night time it seemed like Mommy's tummy had settled down so we went to bed. Mommy fell asleep, Daddy stayed up reading, I stayed on top of the covers. My sensitive ears could hear the rumbling in Mommy's tummy and knew something bad was coming. At 12:30 she awoke, looked at Daddy, said "I have to go mumble sideways in the underhill," stood, and moved quickly, walking into the TV, then on to the dresser, clearing the pictures from the shelf as she tumbled forwards, landing on my blanket.
Which she womited on while she lay on the floor. My blanket! Where I sleep! Where my Pocket comes and plays with her toys! Daddy stood up and ran to her. I jumped off the bed and jointed him. Pocket stood on the bed and went "HARRRRUUFFFF! I am alone on the bed, I am the bed queen!"
Daddy used his tiny, emaciated man like strength to sit Mommy up with her back to the bed. He asked her if she was all right. She slumped down and womited some more. Daddy said he was going to call 911. I was against it. If calling 911 couldn't get Guiliani elected President how could it help Mommy? Mommy said no. She actually said "No, horsie, sit, fog cue.," Daddy lifted her up and put her on the bed. She slid off like a fish on a see saw.
Daddy caught Mommy and told her if she couldn't stand up right now he was calling 911. He then grabbed her and yanked her up. He put his feet under her feet, and pushed her forward slowly, like Tessio dancing with the little girl at the wedding (Two Godfather references in one blog, Zoe Boe: Bazinga!)
He got her into the bathroom. He eased her down to the floor next to the toilet with her back against the tub. He then leaned her forward like priming a pump and then wham came the womit.
Daddy held her, and when she was done he asked her how many fingers he was and she correctly guessed three. He then asked her if she knew what day it was and she said to calm down and get his s**t together. Daddy knew she would be all right.
He grabbed my blanket, and the comforter, and put them in the washing machine. I stayed with Mommy. Daddy got the steam cleaner and went to work on the rugs. He then went back to Mommy. He helped her up and walked her back to the bed. He put her in bed and tucked her in, he put me next to her to watch over her, then looked around. No Pocket. He went downstairs where Pocket had peed on the rug. "Hey, I figured while you have the vacuum out....." Daddy scooped her up, put her in bed, brought the vacuum downstairs and cleaned up her mess too.
Mommy was fast asleep when he got back upstairs. Daddy didn't want her waking up so he tried to stay up, with his IPod cranked on loud, a book to read, and a Smart Phone to keep track of the world's activities. He even had the gall to respond to something Otis had written as me! Mommy womiting on my blanket! Daddy posing as me on Tanner Brigade? The entire system was breaking down.
I have vowed to keep an eye on him while he's on the computer for now on.
On Wednesday she went back to work. Daddy drove her and we got to go with him when he picked her up.
We hope things are getting back to normal. But let me tell you that was one scary night.
We don't have any video of the incident. This is the closest we could find. Just say a prayer for Mom and for us that this doesn't happen again.
Foley I am so so sorry. We have had that same experience! Sort of... My momma for some bizarre reason allows her white coat to cut her and he stitches her with ugly blue thread. Many times when she comes home from the cutting place, momma looks like a rag doll and is full of then pukies. A couple of times, the pills they gave her for pain, gave her the pukies. Loud, vicious ones. Our dad is an ok guy, but he does not handle pukies well. J drains...mhhh he handles. Stitches ...he is ok with. Pukies not so much. Passing out is another thing he does not handle. That one just baffles me. Up one minute, down and out the
ReplyDeletenext... The trick with all that is for you to get out of the way. Watch from a safe spot...so you don't get vomit on you or splattered when the fall on you. And..when they are changing bandages...stay away because apparently Mr Sterile Field hates dogs or something or he made the law or something, in any case they say Sterile Field...which means stay away.
Hopefully your momma is ok now. Cut the dad some slack, he probably was scared to death. Tell your momma to sue the bastards that poisoned her.
Silvieon4
Hi! We just started our own blog recently, and we're going around trying to meet other bloggy pets. Sounds like your Mom had a horrible, horrible time! But the Family Guy video made us all ROFL. We hope you waited until your Mom was feeling much better before you tried showing it to her!
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