Greater L.A. Barf Fest
We told our daughters that we would do a special family vacation with them to celebrate their senior years of high school. Denise, our eldest, chose a trip to the Los Angeles area.
Since travel planning is one of my favorite hobbies, I put together an adventurous week for the four of us. Not long before we left, Denise began to experience a recurrence of symptoms from her long-diagnosed ulcerative colitis (UC). She had been in what can best be described as “remission” for more than 10 years. But the damn UC reignited, so her specialist suggested she try a different medication. With our L.A. trip just around the corner, perhaps we should have delayed starting the new medicine, but bringing her comfort and healing was the top priority.
I booked a flight that left on Christmas Eve. We spent the morning celebrating our family Christmas a day early. I retained one small gift for each of us and packed them in our luggage. And off we went.
Denise seemed healthy enough when we left, but we soon realized the new medicine made her groggy and upset her stomach. Whether the medication was fully to blame or if she had picked up a virus, we will never know.
She tolerated our many sightseeing trips well, until a particularly busy day when we went to the famous Pink’s Hot Dogs for lunch. Our last stop for the night was the Glory of Christmas live-nativity performance at the Crystal Cathedral. On our drive back to the hotel, just as my husband, Dee, started merging onto a busy L.A. highway, Denise puked in the back seat of our rental car. Dee quickly pulled into the skinny triangle between the merge lane and the highway, which I now know is called the gore. I stepped out of the car to assist, all the while praying for our lives as cars flew past us.
Our younger daughter, Angela, was gagging and begged to sit in the front seat. Being the sacrificial mom that I was, I climbed into the back, rolled down the window, and stuck my head out like a dog to keep myself from getting sick. I was thankful that God answered my prayer: We all survived the treacherous L.A. highway.
The top priority on our return to the hotel was to somehow clean out the rental car. The staff gave us an abundance of white towels, which soon were covered in lovely hotdog vomit. They told us we did not need to return them; I am sure they did not want all that chunky stuff swishing around in the washer with their linens. Dee and Angela found a car wash nearby, and I stayed behind to tend to Denise.
The next day, she felt good enough to join us for a visit to the Getty Center, but she barfed once again in the parking garage as soon as we arrived. At least it was not in the newly cleaned car.
One of our last adventures was a day at Universal Studios Theme Park. By then, Denise was much better, but I was not, which made me think her medication was not the only thing making her feel yucky. My episode struck rather quickly while we were in line for a roller coaster. I had to step out of line and race to a restroom. My husband was a trooper and joined me. The girls assured us later that the ride was not that great. Bless their hearts; I am pretty sure they fibbed.
I still feel awful knowing Denise was miserable much of the time, but she assured me she still has good memories of her senior-year vacation. Nobody can deny it was an adventure.
