Becca
A day later and finally home, I made a point of making a doctor’s appointment because no matter what I did, the nausea did not subside. I would be fine one minute, and then the next thing I knew, I was throwing up. Nothing I did made it better, and by this point, I was wondering if I was actually sick or if it could have been something else.
“No, Dad, I’m going to the doctor, I promise,” I said through the phone, my father having called me twice to check on me already since I had been back. He worried I had picked up some unknown strain of virus in New York City.
Not that you couldn’t. Lord knows the subway system carries all kinds of germs.
“Well, I want you to let me know as soon as you get done at the doctor exactly what’s going on,” he replied.
