I’ve had this fear for the last ten years. Whereas some may be scared of spiders, others that the world is going to end… my fear has been simple: I’m terrified of throw up.
Call it what you want, vomit… throw up… or the nickname “butterfly” I gave it in high school because just hearing its various names used to make me gag.
I remember when I wrote this post years-and-years ago after having an encounter with someone throwing up in the bathroom at my work. That summer was pivotal for me in that I was able to overcome my immense dislike for asparagus, so I thought perhaps I was on my way to getting over my fear of people throwing up within a one hundred foot radius of me as well.
Boy, was I wrong.
Not only can I recall the last scarring incident- I vomited over Spring Break in 2004 after having eaten too much candy at Disney World, and ever since that time I have sworn to myself that a) I would not throw up again if I could help myself and b) that throwing up may be one of the worst things ever.
Fast forward to this past November. I am babysitting one evening. My dear little six year old girlie was not a happy camper. Something about not wanting to go to bed and wanting her mommy. Too many tears caused her to get her poor little self all riled up, to the point of having coughing spasms…
As I am comforting this poor little thing on her bed, next thing I knew… she was puking! Over-and-over again.
Now, rewind. I do NOT do throw-up. This future nurse can handle blood, and guts, and anything else disgusting… but the regurgitation of food. No thank you.
So as she is throwing up next to me, I am holding an old t-shirt up to her mouth while plugging my nose with my face turned and saying, “it’s okay sweetie… are you okay?” All the while I was praying that my gag reflexes would calm down so that I did not begin to vomit beside her.
Ha, it was TV worthy. Then she ran to the bathroom as I quickly chased after her with my eyes squinted, since there was a trail of… *ehemm* food along the carpeted hallway.
Too much information?
Yea, perhaps I do that a little too often on this little blog of mine.
So, I was scarred. It was an awful situation. From beginning to clean-up, I wanted to die.
Fast forward a few weeks. I am entertaining a friend visiting from Spain. I had begun feeling sick that afternoon, but managed to hold it together for his sake. There were a few times that I felt as if I could throw up, but who hasn’t had that feeling at one point or another? So, I smacked a smile on my face and suppressed the waves of nausea I was having.
As my parents and Nacho sat at the dinner table that evening eating their meal, I stared in disgust at their food while trying to make small talk. Then it happened.
I ran from the table to the bathroom. Held it down. Phew, that was a close one.
Fast forward ten minutes.
Another wave of nausea.
Prayers sent up, pleading with God to spare me from puking.
And then- well, lets just say I made it to the toilet in time. And I stayed in there for several minutes getting *sick* a few times.
And you know what? This crazy fear of mine that I have been terrified of for years-and-years-and-years was not as bad as I had made it seem in my head. Comforting that child was not easy, but I made it through. And then me actually throwing up a few weeks later must have been God’s way of saying,
So you wanna be a nurse? It’s time to get over that fear of yours Dominique…
I think His plan worked. :)