I should have listened to my intuition

I never liked dining at place which I will, for the purposes of this blog, call That Little Italian Goldmine.  It was, and probably still is, my parents' favorite restaurant.  It has an excellent reputation and has been in business for ages.  They serve traditional "Tuscan" food.  As a vegan, I could only order two different dishes there and even then drastically altered to leave off the meat, cheese or other possible dairy products. I still had to drain the oil from sauce with a fork before eating. It was never that great, in my humble opinion. The whole place felt claustrophobic to me, the waitresses all seemed like they shared an inside joke, and it was freezing cold in all seasons of the year. And it always just seemed like way too much to eat. But that's Italian, right?

Currently I am recovering from a horrible week-long bout with what the MedExpress doctor called a "type of botulism that results from food not being stored at the proper temperature". He wanted me to go into a hospital overnight for IV hydration but I argued that no one could take care of my pets, (and besides, I have no health insurance!)  so he released me with the solemn promise that I would do nothing but rest, constantly have a glass of water or other clear liquid beside me to drink, and nibble on bland foods like toast or crackers until I felt better, which should be in just a few more days if I followed the plan.

Without going into the extremely disgusting details, I will simply say that never in my life have I been so sick. All because of the marinara sauce I substituted for cream sauce on the pasta primavera, thinking it was a healthier choice. My dad, who also had marinara, was violently ill for a day or so but quickly recovered. Plainly, it was the sauce that did us both in. My mother ordered chicken salad croissant without eating the croissant, as usual (I think she just likes to say "Croissant"), and my sister got some sort of cheese drenched monstrosity. They escaped unscathed.

Was my intuition trying to warn me, all the times that I felt those creepy sensations when I walked into the, um, Little Italian Goldmine? Or was it just my turn to be poisoned? And why did my dad, a rather feeble old man in his mid 80's, bounce back like a champ while his daughter, healthy as a horse, almost landed in the hospital? At any rate, I'm never going back there again.

Today I feel almost human again for the first time since Saturday night. Being a philosophical person, I keep asking "What is there to learn from this?" There must be something, since it was such an intense experience. Or was it merely the fickle finger of fate giving me the bird? No matter how wisely you think you are eating, you can still get sick as a dog (sorry, Johnny! I wouldn't wish this on any canine or other living creature) from someone's carelessness at a restaurant.

I promise that my next blog entry will be better, as my digestive tract returns to normal. Right now, though, I am in the mood to grumble, which proves my health must be improving.