There’s no real way to sugar coat this, so I won’t: Back in spring 1999, a few hours after stopping for dinner at a fast food emporium on the way home from Portland, I became violently ill.

You may be wondering, why is he telling me this?

Well, because until Friday, I had not vomited since. That’s right:  11-plus years of not worshiping at the porcelain throne. I had gone the entire new millennium so far without emitting a technicolor yawn.

My wife and daughter had picked up a stomach bug while working at the state fair last week, but I was genuinely unconcerned it would pass to me when they returned home because I effectively never get ill; I’d been truly sick four times in my adult life.

Make that five now. I woke up Friday morning feeling not quite right, went to work anyway, then saw things get progressively worse. Thankfully I made it through an hourlong interview with a circuit judge without hurling in his chambers.

But by 1 o’clock, back at the office, it was obvious things were going to get worse before they got better, so I started packing my stuff on my motorbike for an early trip home. I was sort of worried I wouldn’t make it without having to pull over, but I caught a break of sorts, if you can call it that, when I felt myself about to get sick just as I stowed the last of my items in the saddlebags.

At the point, the question became, do I let it go right there in the barkdust and bushes that line the parking lot and sidewalk, or try to make it back inside to the bathroom. Heaving right there on Sixth Street just seemed sort of untoward, so I gambled I could reach the nearest toilet inside the DH; it was something of a bold strategy, because had I not made it, I would’ve never lived down soiling the floor in that manner, and no doubt one of my compassionate colleagues would’ve grabbed a camera to document the episode.

But I did make it, and emptying my stomach then enabled me to complete the 20-minute ride home without incident.

Of course the, fun was really just beginning, as I’m sure you can all imagine. However, a mere 18 delirium-filled hours later (final score: Vomiting 6, Diarrhea 5), I had pretty much settled into exhaustion/sleep mode, where I still sort of am at this writing on Saturday night.

But I have eaten half a bagel and 10 soda crackers today, so that’s a plus.

In conclusion, though, I would have to say that nausea is no more fun in the 21st century than it was in the 20th.