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It’s been happening since Ajax was seven. Every year, twice a year, he was overcome at 2:30 to three in the morning with horrifying nausea that grew progressively worse until he was rushing for the toilet, expelling everything in his stomach.
His father, practically obsessed with the idea of Ajax creating stress for himself, always said that’s all it was. Ajax was stressing himself out unnecessarily and that was resulting in twice a year episodes of twenty-four hours of vomiting every fifteen to twenty minutes, most often preceded by a sore throat.
“It’s just caused by anxiety,” his father—the man who believed there was no such thing as anxiety or depression and that those people just needed to get out to nature and not stress or worry about stuff—would always tell him.
“I’m hungry,” Ajax would say one night.
“Have a snack then,” his father suggested.
Ajax looked at the time. “Ah, I can’t. It’s nine o’clock.”
“Why can’t you eat after nine?” His father asked, confused.
“Just in case,” Ajax replied. “I try not to eat too often after eight thirty, just in case I wake up feeling nauseous.” There’s less actual stuff to throw up and more just bile, at that point.
His father had just scoffed. “Seriously?” He asked. “Is it really that bad?”
Is it really that bad, his father asked, as though Ajax hasn’t been dealing with this chronic vomiting for somewhere around sixteen years. Yes, Ajax thought and yes, Ajax would always reply. It was that bad. It was terrifying and anytime he woke up with a sore throat, it was an all consuming thought on his mind.
He’d be careful about eating that day, only eating bland things or just sticking to liquids, just in case. Going about his daily routine with a sore throat when there was even the smallest chance it could result in vomiting was…terrifying.
There was one day he woke with a sore throat and that day, he was careful. Or at least, tried to be. He drank lots of ice cold water but ate a lot too. After all, eating meant the sore throat went away, at least for that duration.
He sucked on Jolly Ranchers most of the day, in the hopes that they would help. When he got home, he decided to do a home test for the virus going around, just in case. Maybe that was the cause? He’d much rather suffer that than vomit, thank you very much.
But it was negative and even though his throat was hurting, he still decided to drive out and meet up with friends for dinner like they’d planned. He always usually canceled on them or said no outright, as he wasn’t very social even with his friends. But he wanted to see them, especially since one friend was moving to the city in another nation pretty far away, so he forced himself to go.
And it was fine at first. The water at the restaurant was ice cold and he was okay. But slowly, eventually, as the night wore on, it got worse. Water stopped helping and talking was harder. Talking in anything more than a whisper hurt . His friends knew he wasn’t feeling well, knew about his sore throat, and knew about the vomiting too, so they offered to go hunting through pharmacies in the hopes of finding some anti-nausea/anti-motion sickness patches his father had suggested might help.
They never did find them and Ajax said it was fine. Though truthfully, he was just tired and in pain and, deep down, scared. He and his friends kept hanging out though, even as he began to feel worse and worse.
He just wanted to go home, but didn’t want to leave early, because he always left early. But when his friend in the driver’s seat turned and asked if he was okay, Ajax honestly said no. His throat hurt and he was tired. His friend asked if he wanted her to drive him back to his car and as awful as he felt for it, Ajax replied that yes, he did.
He just wanted to go home.
The sore throat persisted on the drive and Ajax fought to ignore it, even as his stomach began rolling with nausea. Getting into the house, he barely had time to grab his retainer case from the kitchen and get it out before he was running to the bathroom to heave.
It was too soon after he’d eaten, meaning his body hadn’t entirely digested the contents of his dinner. It certainly wasn’t as good coming back up as it had gone down. After the first wave, he texted his friends that he’d made it home, gave them an update that he’d started throwing up, then lay down on the bathroom floor, shivering, with a little roll of toilet paper under his head for a pillow.
He was alone in the house for about an hour, his mother away for rehearsal with a chorus she was part of and his father working nights, his siblings off at college or a friend’s house. For an hour he lay miserable and sick on the bathroom floor, his dogs occasionally coming to check on him, curious.
Every fifteen to twenty minutes, he was forced to push himself upright to heave again, body growing suddenly too hot too hot too hot until he was finished, and then the chills and tremors returned.
He went to bed shortly after his mother returned home, taking the vomit bucket with them, which they had in part due to his medical condition but also because of these horrid episodes. As always, he did not sleep well as the vomiting persisted until early morning. That next day, he ate little—choosing to stick to milk which was one of his favorite liquids to drink when sick, because the taste outweighed that of the bile and it was thicker than water and spit, making it easier to swallow. Drinking water was hard on his throat, the liquid too thin and his body too worn from expelling his stomach.
His mother did research into it, trying to figure out what was wrong. Years earlier, she’d mused that maybe it was Cyclical Vomiting Syndrome and even joined an internet group about it. While it was nice knowing he maybe wasn’t the only one to suffer from it, it still wasn’t nice to have it.
When Ajax was a kid, they talked to his pediatrician about it, after it had started, but the only response they had gotten was a ‘wow that’s weird’ and little else was done about it, the doctor having no clue what could cause it or what it was.
Ajax himself had spoken to his primary physician about it once and she had only said,
“Well, when it happens, come into the office and we’ll give you some anti-nausea meds.”
Ajax didn’t think she quite understood how bad it was. That he couldn’t even speak without triggering it, couldn’t not vomit for the time it would take to wait in the waiting room.
Of course, part of him was tempted to one day have his mother call and have her drive him in. Show them how bad it was and why just calling him in for some anti-nausea meds wouldn’t work.
He’d never do that, mostly because that would be utterly humiliating and the car ride there would be practical hell .
There were other instances too. These episodes didn’t just happen at home.
They could be triggered by pain in his stomach and abdomen, the level high enough to trigger vomiting that then triggered whatever caused him to vomit for twenty-four hours. The one time this happened when he went to the ER for severe and sudden abdominal pain, the doctor kept asking him questions and eventually asked,
“Does speaking make you throw up?” After Ajax had vomited into his bucket several times while trying to answer the doctor’s questions.
Yes, Ajax had nodded miserably, to which the doctor had only said, “Then stop talking” and proceeded to continue asking Ajax questions.
Another time was when they were at the beach for a family member’s birthday. It was a large family get together with him, one sibling, and two cousins all in one room together. That time had also been preceded by a sore throat, as always, and the next morning he was vomiting as of two thirty, as always.
That was the day they were leaving the beach, which meant he had to suffer through a car ride while throwing up with his mother and two other relatives in the car, listening, for four hours. That morning, they had to be up early and every time his cousin’s alarm went off—two times, too loud—Ajax’s body flinched violently as the noise split the silence, the movement jerking his belly and sending him flying for the bathroom.
His cousin told him later that she felt bad, had seen the way the sound had shocked him and triggered the episode. It was also the first time his cousins really saw such an episode, if they’d even known about it before. He knows because he was getting wide eyed stares from his sibling and both cousins, after coming out of the bathroom.
Desperate to make himself feel better in his utter misery, Ajax had attempted to crack a joke by saying in a slow whisper,
“The ice cream I had last night doesn’t taste as good coming up as it does going down.”
His cousin had just stared, wide eyed. Ajax had smiled and given a very small laugh. It had been funny to him. Perhaps they just didn’t share the same type of humor.
There was another time at a beach too. Ajax can’t remember at this point if that was preceded by a sore throat or not. He just knows his friend slept through all his frantic hurryings to the bathroom. One of the worst moments, that time, was when Ajax missed the toilet and vomited all over the floor next to it.
Exhausted, scared, and helpless he had only covered it with a towel and warned his friend once they were up, so they didn’t step on it. His mother wasn’t happy when he told her about it later as she went to clean it and after she was gone, his friend quietly said to him,
“I don’t think you should have to clean it up. You’re sick.”
Ajax can understand both sides. It isn’t fair of him to make someone else clean up his own sick but at the same time, he’ll most assuredly vomit harder if he tries to do it himself.
Most of the last sixteen years, it’s been twice a year but there were two years where it was different. One year where it was three times and another year where it was four. Not every single episode is preceded by a sore throat and not every single sore throat is followed by vomiting but there has been enough sore throats followed by vomiting for Ajax to fear every time.
He knows he doesn’t help himself as he grows dehydrated, his body desperate for liquid, that he often loses control and chugs too much water or juice or milk or whatever drink of choice he’s deigned to take that time. He always drinks too much, can’t help himself, drinks too frequently and causes himself to vomit.
It is painful and a struggle and every single time, without fail, Ajax will either think to himself or say to his mother,
“Tomorrow when I feel better, I’m going to drink straight out of every tap in the house.”
As a kid, he’d always just thought it was that he had this super cool idea that had come to him. As an adult, he now realizes it’s his dehydrated body, begging for water he can’t give it without it coming back up all over again.
The worst moments, he thinks, is when he knows he has to vomit but his body refuses to let anything up. Those are terrible because he has to practically force himself, pressing hard on his stomach with his knee or his hand until he belches loudly and a stream of sick comes forth.
That’s scary too, when he’s vomiting so much, his body instinctively inhales and he gags and vomits harder. He’s never inhaled vomit into his lungs, but the idea of that and the risk of choking that brings…
His mother had discussed his situation with a co-worker, who had asked, “Can he ever live alone?”
And the answer is a terrifying no . He shouldn’t. Because what if he does choke? What if one of those times when he’s throwing up so much and his body chooses to inhale, he gets more than just air?
What if once when he’s alone, that happens and there is no one to help him or save him?
Ajax has often imagined his death in many different ways, but choking on vomit is one he’s never cast a mind to and one he hopes will never happen.
When it comes to Cyclical Vomiting Syndrome, many sources say that it starts for children with twenty-four hour vomiting and eventually turns to migraines. While Ajax logically knows migraines are awful and horrific to endure, he truly would prefer migraines over helpless, humiliated vomiting.
Just like his other medical complications, there is no cure. It is something he will very likely have to deal with for the rest of his life and that is something he’s not sure he can take.