I took my mother and son to Disneyland as a very special treat; since he is thirteen, it was quite likely the final moment he would enjoy our company without attitude and complaint.
For this reason we did not take any other companions, notify local friends, arrange to meet the California cousins. It was just us three, for five days, and the trip was in every possible way amazing. I’ve never been so happy twirling around on those teacups!
Until the final evening, when I decided we deserved a farewell dinner at the Blue Bayou. The ambiance was excellent.
The food poisoning was not.
I cannot abide vomiting, not the visceral experience, and certainly not the memories that come flooding back with each wave of nausea. I do not just get sick; I have to suffer through horrifying flashes of a childhood conducted in hospitals.
Somewhere around three in the morning I was laying on the cold white tile of a budget hotel in Anaheim muttering if I ever need chemo I will kill myself before the first appointment.