My intentions were good. I planned to spend this week catching up on unfinished projects, spending time with my daughter (she's home from college for spring break) and keeping my blog updated.

Instead I have spent the past few days praying to the porcelain god. First let me state that I am the biggest baby when I get sick. And this was a sick beyond any that I can remember. I won't gross you out with the details but I spent most of the last 48 hours hugging the toilet. My only relief was when my dear friend Tam gave me a phenergan shot.

My husband -- who under normal circumstances is very attentive -- is terrible when it comes to taking care of someone who is sick. In the two days that I laid in bed he only checked on me once. The only reason he came back then was that I called him on his cell phone and asked him to bring me something to drink.

As Twinkie said, (when I sharing my sad state of affairs with her) I could have chocked on my own vomit and he would not have known. Anyway, when you are that sick and you can't get up, but you also can't sleep, your mind runs wild with insane thoughts.

Of course there were all the thoughts of who would raise my young son -- since I was convinced that I was close to death. Surely no one would let that ogre of an uncaring husband raise him, especially since he had let me die without ever checking on me.

Then I remembered that Terri Schiavo had stopped breathing due to a potassium deficiency brought on by her bulimia. I was positive that my potassium level must be washed-out from two days of frequent regurgitation.

The good news is (no thanks to the spouse) I have survived my ordeal. Ironically my mother called today to check on me and asked me if I had heard any news about Terri Schiavo. This is a subject we have never talked about. Against my better judgment, I asked her what she thought. I say against my better judgment not because I don't think my mom has valid thoughts, it’s just that I have tried to steer clear of the sanctity of life debates. My mom feels that Terri's husband should just let the parents take care of her.

Since I was still feeling somewhat vulnerable to unexpected illness I let my mother know that under no circumstances do I ever want to be kept alive if I am a vegetable. I don't think this is something she wanted to discuss because she said she had another call coming in and needed to go.

So here it is in print, if something terrible ever happens to me I want it to be known that I would never ever want to be kept alive on machines or be a vegetable with no hope of recovery like poor Terri Shiavo. And even if there is some slight hope that I would recover, please consider what type of life I would have. As much as I love you all and know that you love me, sometimes the most humane thing is to let go.

Enough said.