Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, green beans, gravy, homemade pie, whipped cream and more all for this one special day.
However, this was the first year I gave my son food poisoning for Thanksgiving.
Midnight, my son is zombie walking into my bedroom holding a trash can. He wrenches out a scream while purging, “I’m sic…” followed by the noise of vomit hitting the bottom of the trash can.
I jump out of bed. Guide him to my bathroom where he sits on the floor in front of my toilet with his arm wrapped around the rim vomiting.
I set outside my room and I can already smell it. The smell of another person’s vomit is my kryptonite. I am wanting to gag, but I have to stay strong. I am the only adult in the home. I got this.
I make my way to the other side of the house where his room is. The stich is horrendous. It is something like the smell of a rotting animal on the side of the street mixed with the aroma of piss, lots of piss, like cow piss in the winter in a small muddy pen.
I gag out loud. I got this… I gag again. I run to the toilet. I can hear my son doing the ear stretching stomach heaves. Buck up, you got this. It is only going to get worse until you get this stuff cleaned up.
I stepped back towards the kitchen took a big breath, hold my breath and ran into my son’s room to grab his bedding. To my horror, it was worse. Much worse than I had ever imagine. It looked like about 10 cows took a crap on his bed, wall, dresser, surge protector and carpet. I was shocked. In all my life, which is a lot, because I’m kind of old, I had never, N-E-V-E-R seen something like this. I run back out.
In the kitchen, I breath again. My mind is racing. WTF? WTF? No one in their right mind will ever believe this. There is only one thing I can do now. Where is my phone? I have to Tweet this! Facebook, yes, I will post this later. I have too. This is why we have Mother’s Day. This is the stuff parents go unnoticed for.
I grab my phone put it on video, take a big breath and run back into ground zero. I film. I snap shots. The smell! Oh my words!!! The smell. Help!!
I run back to the kitchen drop the phone and run back to grab the comforter. I thought I had a good grasp, but no. The weight of the vomit is about 10 pounds. It is a pool of liquid. I can hear the vomit splashing around inside the comforter as I run for the front door. It has the sound of ocean waves at hightide hitting the rocks along the beach. It is loud. I am freaking out. It is leaking from the bottom as I carry this huge blanket with at least a gallon of vomit across my floors to the outside. The smell!! Stop the stench. I am on the front patio where I drop it like it is hot, inferno hot. Then I run back inside to grab the sheets. Back and forth I am going from the bedroom to the patio. I am gagging. My son is still throwing up at my toilet.
Back inside, I run back into the kitchen. Now my refrigerator is crying. Is that even possible? Can my electronics feel the pain too?
I video tape my refrigerator flipping out. My husband will never in his life believe me.
Is this house haunted? This looks like the scene of the movie “Exorcist.” Is my refrigerator possessed. What is going on? Oh my, the smell! The smell is coming this way.
I arm myself with every cleaning spray and tool imaginable and run back to epicenter. I clean. I clean my heart out. I spray. I pick up. I wipe. I spray. Wipe on. Wipe off. Wipe away. Spray on. Spray off. Spray away. Things are improving.
The lights in my son’s room are flickering. He is zombie walking towards me. Vomit on his shirt. Pale face, vomit on the side of his cheek. “M-o-m, lights, electric, puke…”
“What Bubba? I can’t understand you.”
“Mom!! I threw up and it went into the outlet. It’s sparked. Flame! Spark! We need to turn off the electric.”
WTF “You’re kidding right?”
“Noooo! Just listen to me. You need to turn off the electric to this room. You need to clean it before it..” He runs off to vomit.
I look around and that is when I see he threw up on the surge protector. I go turn off the electricity.
It takes me over two hours to clean the floor, bedframe, dresser and carpet.
The next morning, Black Friday, I wake up late. I set outside me room. I peak in the guest room. My son is soundly sleeping. Things look normal. I slowly approach the heart of the disaster. To my horror, the smell. The smell is strong!!! Why?
I fear opening the door, but I do. To my amazement it looks ok, but the stich and odor kick me out. I run to the bathroom to gag. I call to schedule carpet and mattress cleaning. The staff tell me that the enzymes in the puke must be deodorized or it will never be the same. Apparently, this Thanksgiving I was not the only family to suffer from food poisoning, so I will have to wait till Monday for a cleaning.
My next deed was to clean the purge from the comforter. I used the fireman method. I grabbed a hose with pressure spicket and let it roar. Chunks flew left and right. In about 30 minutes, all the large fragments were gone. I dragged one item at a time and placed in my washer. I have had to run the cycle more than once for the duvet cover which still has a scent of stench.
I shower get ready for the day. My son awakes. He says he feels better than ever. He request breakfast.
“You know, you need to eat a very bland diet today.”
“Yeah, I really want some eggs. Nothing in them.”
I make eggs and each one of us a waffle.
“What do you think it was that poisoned me?”
“I don’t know Bub. We ate the same things. I made everything the same way I’ve made it for years. I changed nothing. The only difference is you did eat more pie than me. I think it was the pie.”
“No, it couldn’t be the pie. I cooked the pie. You were right there. I did everything the recipe said. It definitely wasn’t the pie.”
“I know, but you did eat more. Maybe you ate too much?”
“No, because I had the shits too. I was definitely food poisoned.”
About an hour later, while at the barbershop, my stomach begins to churn. I have diarrhea. The barber finishes my son’s hair. We say our goodbyes as he gets in his car. He has to go back to college. I watch from the car as he drives away.
Grrroowwwlllll! My stomach churns. I drive home, run to the potty and do the do. Yep, I am now sick. I think to myself. All I had was a waffle. One waffle without much syrup is all I ate. That is waffle mix, water, oil and E-G-G-S!!! OMG!! The Eggs!!
I finish then run to the refrigerator and check the date, “Nov 8.” I call my son immediately.
“Bubba! I am sorry. I know how I poisoned you. The eggs are expired.”
“Fuck mom! That is about a month ago.”
“I’m sorry. Look at the positives we know it was not my cooking or yours either.”
“Mom, check the eggs. Put them in water and tell me if they float.”
I grab a bowl add water and one egg at a time I see if they float. “Yep, they are kind of floating. I mean some are like just half way floating and then one does not float at all. The bad news is I fed you eggs this morning too. Should I get you a hotel room, so incase you get sick you don’t throw up all over your dorm.”
“Bubba, I’m really really sorry. I promise didn’t mean for this to happen. Look, I am sick now too.”
“It’s ok mom. Just from now on, I think it would be good to do the float test on eggs before you cook.”
“You’re right Bubba. Love you”
“Love you too Mom.”