Why Clementines?

I was sitting in the car today after a yummy lunch. Jack, my eleven-year-old brother, really should have eaten his own lunch earlier because he had a bass lesson to get to. While he and our mother were arguing about it, Jack said, "Well, I had some fruit."

"What fruit?" said my mother.

"I had clementines," Jack replied, and I was struck, all of a sudden, with NAUSEA.

For some reason, the idea of eating clementines right then made me feel sick, even though I really like clementines. What the heck? For goodness' sake. This phobia could be mapped out -- certain foods and situations might trigger anxiety about vomiting, for example -- but sometimes it is just so erratic.

I couldn't shake the nausea for the next twenty minutes and was at the library, doing library volunteer work, as I tried to force myself to be calm, since I could sort of tell that it was anxious nausea, but not genuine nausea.

Oh well. I'm much better now and had a snack. Yogurt-covered raisins -- yum!

I am, on the other hand, a bit nervous because I was so horribly thirsty about fifteen minutes ago, and resorted to a public drinking fountain. Gross. I hope no one with a stomach bug put his or her mouth close to it. I think it's time I shut up or I will freak out here in the library (not the same one I visited earlier. That was volunteer time. This is relaxing time).

Have a very wonderful holiday!

~Emily

My Jolly Imagination

I have a really lovely hacking cough. Not that I care particularly about any sort of illness unless it happens to involve vomiting. I have a certain scenario I play out in my head, actually, involving my being diagnosed with cancer and needing chemotherapy, and asking my mother to step out of the office for a moment so that I might speak with the doctor privately, and saying, "Look. Do you happen to know what emetophobia is?" And ending up having to explain how morbidly terrified I am of throwing up. I don't like to imagine the reaction I might get, because one doctor might say, "Let's see what we can do about that," or "You have options," while another might very well reply, "Well, it's either puke or die, kid."

I've always said I would rather die than vomit (and this is not confined to the possibility of chemotherapy), but who knows what my resolution might be if I were actually offered a choice?

It makes me think.

Too much.

~Emily

Three O' Clock in the Morning

I woke up at three o' clock this morning.

Three o' clock is the only totally silent hour. No one is settling down to sleep, and no one is rising to start the day. The whole world is hushed.

I woke up and felt a bit strange. I guess it was mostly that I wasn't hungry, although I often am when I wake too early. I started to worry that I was going to throw up. After that, of course, I felt nauseous.

The nausea bloomed until I was panicking, for the first time in a long time. I can't even remember the last time I had a whole-hearted panic attack. I was terrified. I ran downstairs from my bedroom and into the dining room, where I had left my purse with its ginger gum. At least, I thought I had left my ginger gum in there. I rummaged, trembling like I was preparing to shed a skin, and hurried back upstairs to another bag in which I suspected I might have left the ginger gum.

It was indeed in the bag upstairs. I took two pieces and chewed for about twenty minutes before I finally felt calm enough to turn out the light and try to fall asleep once more.

I was starving hungry at breakfast this morning.

Nothing was wrong with me.

At least, nothing was wrong with my stomach.

~Emily