Well, that was an adventure.

I came down with a terrible stomach bug last night, the worst I've had in 15 years or so. I'll spare you the details, but suffice it to say I lost 4 pounds overnight. This morning, I was tired and weak, with a slight fever, and still not able to keep anything down, so I let Tom talk me into going to see a doctor.

By the luck of the draw, I got the same doctor who, a few years ago, misdiagnosed an infection on Tom, which almost cost him his life. This time, he erred on the side of caution. After hearing my florid symptoms, all related to a stomach bug, he decided that he'd better rule out heart attack. I was put on oxygen and IV fluids, and whisked away in an ambulance to the hospital down the street.

Tom was worried. I kept telling him that any cardiac problems I might have would be somewhere between imaginary and trivial, but, coming from a woman lying on a gurney in an emergency room, hooked up to batteries of electronic monitors, my arguments were unconvincing. It only took a few hours for their tests to demonstrate that my heart was fine; my problem was a stomach bug.

After I came home, I slept for a couple of hours, ate some Jello, drank some fluids, and felt a lot better. They gave me something in the IV to combat the nausea. Tom knew I was on the road to recovery when I picked up my knitting and *finished the sock!*

I'll have to skip the chocolate party this year, though. Darn it. I shouldn't cook for people-- I could be contagious-- and I certainly am not up to tasting two or three dozen other chocolate desserts for purposes of judging. Next year.