Vomit Nostalgia 

You know that feeling you get right after puking – the one that feels like an intense wave of relief and satisfaction? I love that feeling. I’m not like most sick people because I tend to look at vomiting as a positive, even desirable, thing because it gets you out of work, school, and other responsibilities. It lets you just stay at home all day so you can do nothing but sleep and watch television (even if the only daytime options are the polar opposites of Mr. Rogers and Jerry Springer). Nausea, influenza, food poisoning, each of them are air-tight excuses that bosses and teachers can’t argue with.

On days when I'm dissatisfied with life, my mind dwells on thoughts of better times, usually from the two years I spent as a Mormon missionary. I threw up four times on my mission to the Marshall Islands, as far as I can remember, and all were within one two month period of time. I puked twice on a boat trip, once in a toilet after eating at a Filipino restaurant, and once in a bush the day before zone conference, a meeting involving all the missionaries in the surrounding area.

I only ever took one sick day on my mission, and I’ve always been proud of that. Missionaries often count their success by irrational measurements, like never being out past curfew, never reading non-religious literature, or never taking sick days. Even when I had strep throat I didn't take a sick day, but my personal sick day rule is that if you throw up you take the day off – no matter how good you might feel (I didn’t take a sick day when I threw up twice on the boat, mostly because that was my first day arriving on a new island, and I only threw up because of sea sickness anyway). It was lunchtime on the day that would become my first and only sick day and I felt like death, I was sweating even in the air conditioned apartment and I felt incredibly nauseous, but Elder Stewart and Elder Riggle wanted to go to Litaki's, the Filipino restaurant next door to our apartment. My companion at the time, Elder Balos, didn't like me at all, so I took any excuse I could to hang out with the other missionaries instead. I left him with two other missionaries at my apartment, and went to the restaurant with Riggle and Stewart. Technically, missionaries are always to remain with their companions, but we were a little more loose on the rules in the islands, so we figured we were alright as long as we had another missionary with us, whether a companion or not. As soon as I entered the restaurant, I knew it was a bad idea. The smell of food intensified any nausea I was already feeling. I started sweating and the room started spinning. Hoping I would feel better in a minute, I sat down and ordered a fruit punch. I wanted to stay there no matter what. I was away from my companion, and I that usually made me happier. I could handle the nausea. It would pass. I tried laughing and joking around, but I was not doing well. My sweat increased, and I knew I couldn’t hold back the puke much longer. I stood up suddenly, told Riggle and Stewart to cancel my fruit punch, headed toward the door pausing only to wonder if I was required as a missionary to take someone with me, disregarded that idea, and ran out the door to my apartment immediately next door. The other elders were inside laughing about something. I don't remember if any of them said anything to me – everything is a dizzy haze – I just ran straight into the bathroom and hurled. It was beautiful. I immediately felt better, and as I emerged from the bathroom I felt like I had accomplished something. "Elder Balos," I said to my companion, "You can work with Elder Masaga today. I'm sick. Elder Delana can stay home with me today," I then walked into the bedroom, grabbed a mattress, dragged it outside to the balcony where there was a strong breeze, and slept in full view of passers by. I honestly believe I have never felt more exquisitely relieved in my entire life. Later that night I went inside and lay on my bed and Elder Delana explained about rugby while watching old rugby tapes of the New Zealand All-Blacks.

Vomit reminds me when I’m doing too much. When I get stressed, I puke. The night before my first zone conference as zone leader I puked in a bush. The Mission President lived in Guam, roughly 4,500 miles away from Ebeye where I was in the Marshall Islands, and he would come each month with his wife and his assistant for the zone conference. The Assistant to the President always was staying with me I was trying to put on a good show, but was doing a terrible job of it. I get incredibly stressed out about little things that most people wouldn’t even care about, especially social things. Hanging out with an authority figure all day was killing my nerves. Whenever I get nervous, my hands start to shake uncontrollably and I get nauseous. We were just finishing up preparation day and getting ready to go over to the church to set up for zone conference the next day. I was starting to feel incredibly sick, but I didn't let anyone know it. We sat on the balcony and the smell of Litaki's suddenly wafted over. Damn Litaki's, I loved their food when I was feeling well, but it never helped to calm a queasy stomach. I just wanted to sit down and try to get over my nausea, but we needed to go. We got up and walked across the street to the church. There were kids playing outside, and the AP took the opportunity to do some magic tricks for them. I took the opportunity to sit down and try not to die. Slowly all the elders gravitated inside to set up tables and chairs, and I lagged behind outside. Elder Balos was still talking to some people, so I felt no need to hurry up. Suddenly I felt like I couldn't fight it any more. I stood up and walked over to a bush that was in a dark spot where nobody would see me. I leaned over and vomit gushed out of my mouth. The taste was very distinct, but forgettable, since I can’t recall it now. I'm sure I developed a taste aversion to whatever it was. Again, I immediately felt better. I spit a couple times to get the taste out of my mouth, and Balos walked over to me. "Did you just throw up?" he asked me.

"Yeah, but I'm okay," I replied.

"You sure?" he asked.

"Yeah. Let's go inside," I said. And we went in and I lifted chairs and tables with the comfort of not being nauseous. Immediately after, we returned to the apartment and I lay down on my bed and fell asleep. It was pure bliss.

I’ve never been able to vomit at will, but if I could I would probably do it bi-weekly, though I’m sure the novelty of it would wear off and the feeling would be reduced to nothing more than the feeling of stomach acid eating tooth enamel away. Still, nothing in this world can compare to the momentary relief after a good cleansing puke.