My experience this week defies my medical training. But, like most things, makes sense when it’s over.
I got food poisoning Tuesday night (Tuesday morning to be exact). The particulars are unimportant, save to say, I lost five pounds while watching three reruns of SportsCenter. Between heaves, I’d catch the bits: “Deion Sanders has won the first weekend of…” and “per Ohtani’s agent, he will hit and pitch next…” and “showing her maturation, Coco Gauff continues to…”
It was a strange, delirious few hours. But something was happening; something natural and necessary. I got that feeling, where you know, right then, you’re supposed to be ill. Weird, I know. What was weirder, was that my wife and I ate the exact same dinner (the most likely culprit). And she slept on peacefully in the next room.
Since, in what’s been the weirdest part of an already weird and shortened week, I’ve felt better. Not as tired, despite missing an entire night of sleep. Clearer headed, despite being behind on work. Lighter in spirit, despite gaining the weight back. All and all, I appear healthier, for, the food poisoning.
Which leaves me believing there is force within me that decided it best to eject everything from my body. A force that demanded catharsis. And a force, that I have very little understanding of, despite eight years of medical training.
Sometimes, the things that make sense really don’t, and the things that don’t make sense, really do. It’s hard to tell which is which, which, leaves us doing our best and surrendering the things we can’t control to God, the universe, or Deion Sanders.
To living a life we love,
Ryan Fightmaster, MD
(P.S. Making sense of my medicine situation took years, and only occurred when I found the right questions. This week’s article, Surviving a 12-Round Backyard Fight to the Death, outlines how to discover your own.)
