Throwback Thursday #37: Puking My Way Across Kentucky Part 2

“Anyone can give up, it's the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength.” ~Unknown

Well, as most of you guessed after reading Part 1 of the story last week, my Dad won the battle of the parents. My mom always says she lives her life being outvoted 3-1 and at least in this case, it was true.

I convinced Mr. F not to haul me to the hospital. Instead, I curled up in like three jackets on the back row of the bleachers at the sale barn (between frequent runs to the bathroom) and tried to sleep it off. Realizing that the aformentioned green Mexican pill had failed, Mr. F and some other ag teacher decided that Alka seltzer would for sure do the trick. Yea....it didn't. It just made me feel worse. I've never had it since. I was traumatized.

So the grading workshop ended (with me maybe seeing one steer) and we went to the hospital to check on the boy who had been admitted. They were going to keep him overnight. So here we were, stranted in the hillbilly hills. Lucky for us, a caravan of ag teachers and 4-H agents from New Mexico stopped by and picked us up. I got put in a brand new Cadillac (because Dr. Wagley, who you've read about before on the blog, made the reservations and that guy had style) with a 4-H agent and a college judging coach. I prayed the whole way there that I could make it to the hotel before I got sick again.

And then we pull up to the hotel. I bail out of the car, run for the trash can (which turned out to be one of this cigarette thing with sand in it) and got sick again. Go figure, this was the ONLY time in life that Mr. F decided not to stay at some ghetto dive. No no, this place was super nice, on the river, rich people walking in and out, and here I am, puking at the front door. Great times. I was traumatized again.

I headed into the hotel and found the bathroom. About that time, in comes the college judging coach who had been riding in the car with me to be sure I was okay. The other women in the restroom didn't seem to appreciate his checking on me so much. He just looked at them, threw his hands up, and said, "What's your problem?" They left, traumatized as well. (Do you see a pattern here??)

At one point that night, Mr. F got off the phone with the doctor of the other boy at the hospital, looked at me and said, "The doctor says that if you are having stomach cramps we really need to get you to the hospital." My response (as I lay on the floor of his hotel room curled up into a ball because my stomach hurt so bad and I felt so terrible), "Oh no, I'm fine. No stomach ache."

Later, we gave a set of reasons. Mine were terrible. Mr. F lied and said they were fine and that I should go to bed. (Frequently in the years after this incident he would tell people that it was hands down the worst set of reasons I had ever given in my life, but that he smiled and sent me to bed. It must have killed him!)

Because I was the only girl, and the female sponsor was the mom of the boy in the hospital so she stayed with him, I was alone in the motel room that night. Mr. F, who was staying across the hall, called me LITERALLY every hour on the hour of the whole night to be sure I was still alive. It was a very restful evening for us both.

So, the next day was day one of the livestock judging contest. A couple of small issues.....I couldn't go an hour without being sick. And, if we were not all there for the the team picture...including the boy who was yet to be released from the hospital two hours way, we couldn't judge.

Stay tuned to find out what happens next week on Puking My Way Across Kentucky.