I wrote about the occasion the day after it happened on my original blog. I don’t even need to read that entry to remember everything about it.
My sister and her husband Tom were up from L.A. for a few days. Tom had a conference he was attending, and had a room at the very, very posh Clift Hotel. We made plans to have a grand dinner at the fabulous Rubicon for Saturday night. No kids, just me and Pete with Ginny and Tom. And since they were buying, you know it was going to be high-priced and delicious.
And it was delicious. I had soup as a starter, followed by a to-die-for Sonoma chicken, and a scrumptious frozen chocolate dessert. I had a glass or wine or two during dinner and I enjoyed coffee with the dessert.
And then it struck. Horribly quickly. I was sick, sick, sick. I felt a bit queasy right after the coffee and dessert. And it went downhill from there. I went outside for some air, but that wasn’t going to do it. I told the others I wasn’t feeling well. We decided to get back to the swanky hotel they were staying in (and near where we had parked our car).
Hopped in a taxi, we did, and before it pulled away, I knew I’d never make it back to the hotel. The driver did his best, but we ultimately got stuck in traffic. A block from the hotel, Tom and I bailed out and ran, ran, ran to the hotel lobby. The ladies’ room? Totally crowded. The men’s room? A couple of people in it.
Yelling, “Medical emergency, coming through,” Tom ushered me into the men’s room, kicking everyone else out. Sick, sick, sick. And sick, sick, sick some more. In a freakin’ men’s room. On a hopping Saturday night. At a fancy-schmancy hotel.
Exiting after the spell passed, I came upon the three of them in the lobby. I feebly indicated that I thought Pete and I should try to make it home. We decided to go up to their room first. By the time the elevator let me off, it was another mad dash to their room and its bathroom. Sick, sick, sick. And sick, sick, sick some more.
The romantic evening the two had planned was kaput. Pete went home to the kids and the sitter alone. I ended up staying in their room, sleeping in the queen bed nearest the bathroom. By about 2 a.m., the horrid stomach cramps and puking and etcetera had eased and I was able to sleep.
Like death eating a cracker? Oh, yeah!
[There is a post script to the event. I ended up emailing the restaurant about my experience, just letting them know what had happened in case it happened to anyone else. I didn't ask for anything in return -- like some cash back off the nearly $500 bill. I got a reply from their executive chef saying, among other things:
"Food borne illnesses typically occur 4 to 8 hours after the bacteria enters the system. Possibly, breakfast or lunch could have played a major role in your sickness."