"DO NOT ENTER,"

said the stomach.

We've been sick here, in turn, the past several days. Three days ago, the T-ball, who wouldn't turn down broccoli, wouldn't eat breakfast. Around 11 he managed some applesauce and toast (and milk - that was from me, the smart mom). Around 11:30 he wandered over to me and began hurling all stomach contents, including curdled milk. Nothing sadder than a sick kid. Thankfully, he was back to health the next day.

But the next day, Briton came home from work looking peaked. "I think I got what Talmage had." We went to the library for our date, where he excused himself to the bathroom for a long while. He continued to rid himself of his esophogeal and stomach lining once we returned home.

Yesterday, I had a 12-hour work shift. I got up feeling the typical nausea, but managed to eat a bowl of shredded wheat - which usually helps. Before I got in the truck, I found myself fertilizing the groundcover with said shredded wheat. All of it. The big clue that this was not pregnancy-related was that I didn't feel like eating the rest of the day. Returning from an episode around 2:30 p.m., another nurse said, "You look shell-shocked." Not to be disrespectful of my patients with end-stage liver disease, but I figured if I was throwing up more than they were, I probably shouldn't be taking care of them. I've never left work due to sickness before. It was a good call, though. I left a package on the sidewalk of OHSU on the way to the truck and had to stop again on the way home. Once home it was a free-for-all (how many different ways can you think of to allude to "throwing up"?).

Now it is Sunday. I think we're out of the woods. Syd seems to be holding up pretty well and, fingers crossed, has been spared this monster.