i threw up…
Okay, I’m sorry to whoever had to clean up the mess I made. Please allow me to explain myself.
Everything was going fine until the third day. First two days up, my walk was strong, I was chugging along at a good clip, enjoying the vistas of Himalayan splendor, everything was in its right place. But then, on that awful third day, the mountain gods sent some malicious bacteria to infect my stomach, probably through the vehicle of bad eggs, and my goose was cooked. First the fever hit me, then body ache, then nausea, then diarrhea. By the time i got to the last leg of the walk to gorepani, from where we would summit the next morning, I was working harder to keep my fluids inside me than i was to keep my pack up and my body going. Each stair became a summit of its own, and the diabolical nature of the mountain, constantly insinuating that my walk would be over soon and then revealing a dozen more stories to go, was turning my mind to soup.
But no microbial henchmen of the mountain deities could quash my relentless resolve, my unquenchable drive for personal bad-assness. i WOULD make it up, without question, and that was all there was to it.
I took it one step at a time, just one more step and then rest, and then again, just one more fucking step, and then relief. I paused to lean on a tree every now and again, my body was ready to hurl, my mouth even salivated in vomitory anticipation, but alas nothing came from my empty retching. I kept going until I got to the heart of town, where I asked a kind trekking guide where i could find the nearest bathroom. He paused to think. At this point my body let me know there was no time to think. Just find a place, any place, and let it go. I left the pondering trekking guy standing there, trying my hardest to keep it together. I found an inn that had a bathroom in it for certain, it’s an inn for god’s sake, there has to be a bathroom but to my astonishment, there was a lock on it. I knew that if I tried to move in any direction, i would explode. I asked a kid who was sweeping the floor to bring me the key at once. This was a smart kid, he could read my face, he knew that i was working very hard to keep it together, and he ran and got that key as fast as he could. I fumbled with the lock and and shoved the door open. But once I got in there, nothing could stop the force that was bubbling this entire time. I threw up all over that fucking bathroom. Each retch brought on a ghoulish shriek as my stomach pumped its contents out of me in these awful spurts. I tried my best to clean it up, but it was all over the place. The damage was done. When I got out of the bathroom, the whole room was staring. I just shot out of there like a thief on the run… my bad.
I don’t throw up often, but when i do, I almost always manage to do it somewhere bad. In this case at least i made it to the bathroom. I’ve thrown up in bed, on the couch, in my shower, in museums, at the opera, on the dentist chair, in veterinary clinics, hair salons, internet cafes, in line at starbucks, while sitting at the dinner table, the list goes on. Rarely do the contents of my stomach, when expelled, reach the toilet where they should probably go. But maybe that’s the point of throwing up, letting it all just flood out into a mess wherever, whenever. It’s not supposed to be pretty. Though i do always manage to produce an interesting palette of colors.
-Das
