Ambulances ARE fun!!

This past weekend was supposed to be my first get-a-way by myself. A trip. On my own. By myself. I was beyond pumped. I had worked hard to save up money for the trip. My husband, who apparently loves me tons, wrote me a check to also help me bankroll my trip (for my birthday present of course). All was set to go. My route was planned. Everything.

And then?

My bosses decided to throw me a belated wedding/happy honeymoon party. I was shocked. Everyone I work(ed) with showed up. There were gifts, and cards, and risque undies. And? Champagne. Since I got sick (well over a year ago now), I really haven't drank much of anything. Perhaps a beer there, a morning coffee with Bailey's in it here, a vodka tonic there...but never more than two drinks. But? I was so caught up in the surprise and the fun and all the people that showed up for ME. I've never had anything like that before; no surprise parties for this girl. So, I stupidly indulged. I must have had 5 or 6 flutes of champagne in 2 1/2 hours. It hit me out of no where, and the next thing I know, I'm drunkenly calling my husband to come get me...and making my way to the bathroom to throw up. And it was bad. I remember all of it, and it was real bad. Throwing up blood, bad.

They managed to get me into the car, and my husband made it about a half a mile down the road before I begged him to pull over. So I could throw up...even though I had a bucket with me. But there I was, on my hands and knees in the middle of a field---feeling like I was dying. I asked him...no, no...I begged him (yet again) to call 911 (this coming from a girl who has reached her limit with doctors and hospitals). Within minutes the police were there. Followed by a fire truck. And an ambulance. And off to the hospital I went.

I was hooked up to IV's, pumped full of fluids and anti-nausea medication. But the worst part of it all was how dumb I felt. Granted, my Internist (who's been my main doctor through all of this) thinks the way my body reacted to the alcohol is just another piece of the puzzle--that I cannot metabolize alcohol as well as I should---But, regardless, I should know how much I can and cannot handle at the ripe old age of 25, no?

The bottom line? I'm just not cut out to party like I was 4 years ago. I'm living in a different body now---it should have known that if I cannot walk up a flight of stairs like I used to, that I cannot drink like I used to.