Tuesday,
August 17, 1999

Remember Lyndon's stomach upset? I don't think it was the house.

I cooked four pieces of chicken breast for dinner on Sunday night. I ate one, Lyndon ate one, and I had another piece later that night as a sandwich. Yesterday morning, I started to get a little queasy myself, but just put it down to all the cleaning I had been doing over the weekend. So when I came home from work yesterday evening, I had the last piece of chicken for dinner.

BIIIIG mistake. I experienced what the polite would call "severe gastrointestinal distress" and what the honest would call "the worst case of vomiting and runs in the world." So I drag my carcass to the doctor this morning, who listens to my tale of woe and says it looks like food poisoning. Oh, wonderful. The reason why I didn't start showing symptoms at the same time Lyndon did, he theorized, was due to all the water I've been swilling -- it's been moving the food through my system faster than the little buggies could attack. But that final piece of chicken probably did it.

In any case, since I'm relatively mobile (if sick as a dog), I've been given a nice prescription of antibiotics and told to go home and continue to drink fluids. So if y'all don't mind, I'm going to do just that. Gah...