Tis the season...to be barfy

I don’t like barf. I am constantly told that I’m not ALLOWED not to like barf as a physician, but I don’t. And that’s precisely why I went into family medicine- to avoid barf. Lots of barf in ER, oncology and pediatrics, but not so much barf in family medicine. So you can say, in a way, that my phobia of barf has shaped my career. That’s how seriously I take it.

It’s not that I feel physically sick when I hear someone getting sick. It’s more that I get shaky and anxious. Beads of sweat appear on my forehead at the mere anticipation and as SOON as the first teaspoon of emesis emerges from the retching mouth – I’m out. Doesn’t matter what I’m doing, whom I’m with or what I’m holding. I leave the room.

One time I was working in the ER and a lady was actively having a heart attack behind curtain #2. I was in the process of “thrombolysing her” when she started to gag. I won’t get into the details of “thrombolysing” but suffice it to say that it was quite necessary at the precise moment that I was administering this particular sequence of clot-busting-multi-million-dollar-costing-life-saving-medication that I remain at her bedside. I didn’t actually THINK about what I was doing- - I just politely nodded my head, put the syringe down, and walked around to the other side of the curtain when the vomit started to emerge.

I’m sure the 2 nurses could still see my feet from the other side of the curtain as I tried as hard as possible to remain unnoticed from the other side. “Dr Henry? Could you come back in here please?” DAMMIT. I took my shaky knees and trembling hands back around the curtain and secretly promised myself, in that moment, to become a family doctor where I could excuse myself as much as I liked from Its horrific presence.

You may ALSO be saying that I can’t be a mom and still hate barf. Aha! I am - -and I have been given the gift of the perfect child who never barfs.

Until Tuesday.

Toby was eating a muffin when he started to cough. And then he sputtered and then I heard it - -the first rumblings of what I instantly knew would inevitably soon be upon us. Toby, being the angelic-non-barfing-kid that he is wasn’t sure WHAT was going on so we spent the next 15 seconds simultaneously staring at each other in HORROR. And then it came. Just a bit -- but enough.

Toby instantly burst into tears. I’m not sure if it was the surprise factor or the discomfort or the subconscious knowledge that he was no longer my perfect-non-barfing-angelic-child. The only words he could utter were a pitiful, “Mmmm-uffin??” as he stared at his now disgusting tray.

I did what any logical thinking barf-a-phobe would do in this situation; I phoned my mother.

I am happy to report that we all survived the event. Toby recovered quickly and even finished the muffin remnants that had yet to be eaten. My mother successfully talked me down and through such important tasks as the clean up and the decision whether or not to send him to daycare. And I realized that I AM actually capable of staying in the room despite my great weakness. Sometimes, for the sake of the great loves of your life, it’s easier than you think. I just hope it doesn’t happen again anytime soon….