Tears stream down your face and your abdomen hurts. Help now turns into abuse and he/she usually goes back to bed leaving you there in the dark.
With your stomach totally empty, your spontaneous eruptions have died back to 15-minute intervals, but your body won't relent.
You are convinced that you are starting to turn yourself inside out and swear that you saw your tonsils shoot out of your mouth on the last occasion.
It is now dawn and you pass your disgusted partner getting up for the day as you try to climb into bed. She/he abuses you again for trying to get into bed with lumpy bits of dried vomit in your hair.
You reluctantly accept their advice and have a shower in exchange for them driving you to the hospital.
Work is simply not an option as the Stingy head of Artois had over taken your brain.
The whole day is spent trying to avoid anything that might make you sick again, like moving.
You vow never to touch a drop again and who knows for the next two or three hours at least you might even succeed.