*WARNING* If you are male, not related to me and attend my church, you should refrain from reading this particular post in order to maintain the ability to say hello in the halls without an inappropriate and downright unappealing visual.
Paul and I married in a little chapel on Captiva Island in November of 2006. It was a brilliant wedding, thanks in no small part to my brilliant mother who pretty much gave herself hemorrhoids to get everything perfect for her last remaining single daughters impending nuptials. The weather was perfect, we were deliriously happy, my in-laws were sober and able to stand in the same room with each other. Like I said, BRILLIANT.
I had been a smokin' quasi mormon when I met Paul, and he encouraged me to go for the gold. Yes, ladies, the man actually WANTED to stop having sex with me 6 months into our relationship in order to facilitate my returning to full activity as I so desired. You can fawn over him, he is that amazing.
I digress, so, we were as newly weds should be... desperate to get back to our hotel. I demanded that we cut the cake and fast so we could return to our hotel and consummate our blessed union. Having no health insurance, I had recently visited planned parenthood to get birth control and because the pill turns me into a fatter lunatic, I decided to go with the nuva ring. IF you are not aware of this little contraption in is a ring that secretes hormones and that you insert up towards the cervix once a month. I was excited at the thought of not having to use condoms and not making my husband sorry he married me because of the horomone surges. (That would come later...thank you pregnancy)
We rushed back to the hotel and jumped into bed. Then it was, "OUCH!" Ahhh, hold on it hurts. Apparently I am allergic to the nuva ring. Wedding night, EPIC fail!
I immediately take the damn thing out and we buy condoms on the way to the airport to head for our amazingly romantic private island, overwater thatched hut in Bora Bora. We cuddle and kiss and make people nauseated in the airport. We arrive in Papeette and stay in a nice hotel that night before our short flight to the Bora Bora. We then are picked up by the boat to go to the island hotel.
People speak french and are golden brown and give us flowers. We sign in at the front desk and they serve us little tasty heart cakes and fresh squeezed juice. We head to the hut and are amazed! We go to the island beach restaurant for dinner and have oysters and sushi and sparkling water. We attempt a wedding night do over, but no luck. My vagina has jumped ship, closed up shop, locked the door and bolted the chain. We cuddle, I cry and my dear new husband comforts me and assures me that he does not regret marrying a frigid woman. We fall asleep smiling because barring this, we are smitten with each other and grateful to be married.
Somewhere around 3am I awake with a start. I have a stomach cramp. Thinking it is travel gas(come on, you KNOW you get off of the plane with the toots) I go to the bathroom and sit down marveling at the bidet. I mean really, a bidet? How do you even use one of those things? Anywhoo, I feel that oh so uncomfortable feeling that is diarrhea and I think, "Oh no, frigid and shitty? I am going to throw myself into the sea!" Little did I know that my embarrassment was about to be the least of my problems.
Within the hour I was laying in the bathtub trying to feel better when I started to feel nauseated. I know what you are thinking, you are thinking, well maybe it is just food poison and she will get over it by the morning. Dear reader, by the morning, I was writhing naked on the bathroom floor alternately vomiting and pooping, pooping and vomiting and even at least once vomiting into the bidet while pooping. For 56 hours I did this. There was no medicine on this paradise island, no pepto, no tylenol, not a thing to stop me up.
For his part, Shmoo was a dear. He took it in stride. He rubbed my back, got me fresh clothes, when I put them on, got the bed ready for me each time I tried to lay down. Inevitably I would end up back in the tub, or on the floor, the toilet or sitting in the shower (what can I say, I am a water baby, it cures all ills.) By the 56th hour thing were slowing down. I was finally able to cling to DH out to the water and watch him snorkel. Of course, I forgot in my delirium to put on sunscreen and so by sundown I was burned to a crisp on top of it all.
I made what would prove to be an 80 dollar 4 minute phone call to my mother and we set about getting emergency flights home as soon as possible.
We would have stayed after my stomach stopped its revolt, but by them, the smell of tahitian vanilla bean which permeated the island has become my own Eau de Hell. On the bright side? I lost ten pounds in 5 days. It was the most expensive colon cleanse in the history of colonics. I am going to try to talk the Bun into going to Disney world for her honeymoon. They have fully stocked pharmacies there.
