18.08.2011 Nobody Can Take the Place of Your Mama

18.08.2011 Nobody Can Take the Place of Your Mama.

Last night was awful.  I was feeling ill, and so I went to bed early.  I woke up projectiling vomit onto myself.  It was in my hair, on my bed, woven into the fibers of my mosquito net.  My stomach was forcing its contents out so forcefully that I was gasping for air, and coming up short.  Trying to make it to a garbage or the toilet at this point was useless, so I waited until I thought I was done, and slowly pealed my blankets off of me, to avoid getting vomit anywhere else. I carried my sheets outside, and then came back to my room.  I don’t know about you, but when I get sick, all I want to do is sit in a bath tub with hot water running over my head and back.  Here, I’d have to settle for cold water, to at least wash the smell and chunks away.  Or so I thought.  I turned the faucet, and started crying. My tears were the only water falling.  The tank was dry.  As if I wasn’t disgusting enough, with my own emesis sprayed over my body, the realization that we had no water made my stomach churn again, and so I ran to the toilet.  I stuck my head over it, and immediately smelled the powerful odor of human waste.  No water means no flushing.  I grabbed for the garbage can, and puked again.  

I sleep in a dorm-style room with five other women, and the walls and door of the bathroom are paper thin.  I know they could hear me puking (dying) in the bathroom, and I couldn’t very well crawl back into the bed I had just soaked with my stomach’s contents, so I went into the living room and laid on the love seat, trying to get comfortable.  I started crying again, quietly.  I wanted my mom to cook me soup, and I wanted my mom to give me 7-Up, and I wanted her to clean my sheets so I could have a bed to crawl into.  I just wanted my mom.  I texted her, and asked her to call me.  It was about 0200 here, but mid-day there.  Five minutes later, dad called me.  I answered crying.  Stupid me, of course they knew it was the middle of the night here.  They were worried something serious had happened, and me answering the phone crying didn’t calm my dad’s nerves.  I quickly told him that everything was fine, I was just ill and home sick.  I told him what happened, and he said, “Oh no, Da.  I’m sorry.  Can Ashlee or somebody take the dolly dolly to get water tomorrow?”  This made me imagine Dolly Parton on a dala dala, and that made me start laughing out loud.  

My parents each comfort me in a different way, and depending on the situation, I usually prefer one over the other.  My dad, for example, is the person I went to when Mike died back in high school, and the first person I wanted to talk to when Jacob and I broke up.  He doesn’t usually know what to say, but he oozes comfort from his pores.  Usually when he does say something in the attempt to make you feel better, the awkwardness of his words makes you laugh (dolly dolly).  My mom, on the other hand, comforts with actions.  When I’m sick, my mom knows exactly what to do.  When I arrive home after a while away, she goes out of her way to make me happy to be home (even though the entire time I am home, she jokes that she can’t wait until I leave again). 

My mom had been at Kohls, shopping with the girls.  She came home while I was still talking to my dad, and got on the phone too.  I was so happy to talk to her, but it made me even more home sick.  This was the first time I had felt home sick since arriving, but I wanted nothing more than to crawl into my bed with my blankets tucked around me, with my annoying cat drooling while lying on top of me.  After we got off the phone, I rolled over on the love seat and started to drift off.  Less than an hour later, I began vomiting again.  Kaka and Zachi, the security guards, heard me and came inside.  They comforted me, found me another blanket and a more comfortable pillow, and made me honey tea.  Kaka sat with me until I fell asleep again.  Not my mama, but he did well.