Worst flu I ever got was probably the norovirus in retrospect. I may have already told this story here, my apologies if that's the case

2 years ago took the family cross country for a west coast adventure -- Mrs Mudder, then 4 yr old Mudder and then 2 yr old Mudder were with me. Flew on a dirty NW plane to San Fran on Friday, had a great day touring Saturday, then 4yr Mudder wakes up Saturday night puking all over the white rug at the million dollar house of some friends of ours where we were staying in the East Bay. He kept puking the next day, so we beat a hasty retreat back to the city in order to keep their kids from getting sick, and he convalesced the rest of the day in the hotel.

Next morning he was still hurling, so we took him to a pediatric ER and missed a flight down to LA. Dr. says he's not dehydrated and fine to travel and 4yr Mudder actually starts feeling much better after getting a pedialyte pop. So we try to figure out if we should get a hotel in SF, go to the airport and fly to LA, or rent a car to drive to LA. We foolishly decided to press on and that flying is probably better than driving due to the amount of time we'd be in the car, and so I park the fam in the PC at SFO while returning the rental.

While returning the car, all of a sudden I upchuck into a garbage can in the rental car garage, and think "you dummy, it's noon and all you've had is coffee today, having skipped breakfast because of the ER trip" I immediately feel better, and erroneously conclude I merely had become nauseous from no food and too much caffeine.

I get pick up the family and feel great. UA graciously rebooks us and I feel great. Go through security -- all 4 of us still feel fine. Board plane and take our seats -- no problem.

Door closes, announcements running, and my mouth starts watering, the whole bit. I move to an empty row behind us for some space and air. We begin to taxi and I have gone from feeling great to ready to hurl in 3 minutes. I ask the FA if I can get up to go to the head, and got the expected "We're taxiing" with the expected disdainful tone. I reply "all righty then," buckle back up, and pull out the barf bag.

First emptying of stomach comes right after the takeoff roll. I proceeded to heave and hurl through the entire ascent and cruise. Puke, rest, breathe for 5 minutes, repeat. By the end I was well into the dry heaves -- stomach violently contracting, noises made, nothing coming out. Passengers nearby were adjusting their air vents constantly, clearly disturbed by the sound and smell. When the drink cart came by I wanted to buy them all drinks, but didn't want to pull money out and pass said contaminated money to the FA.

Soon, we thankfully begin descent and the seatbelt sign is on. I contine the puke/rest cyle intermittently, and feel a rumble of gas welling up in my bowels. Being the gentleman that I am, of course I hold it in, but it gets worse, and finally some escapes, adding a fecal quality to the already putrid cabin air. We're on approach and I realize it's not just gas I'm holding in -- so I steel myself for holding on until we land. Unfortunately the puke cycle continues, and the dry heaves are so violent that while on final to the runway I lose my concentration on keeping the backdoor closed during one unproductive hurl and fill my pants in a dual front-back expulsion. By this time the combination smell in the cabin is worse than a meat rendering facility and the other passengers are in agony as they fan themselves and uncomfortably shift positions in their seats. My family alternates between asking if I need anything and pretending not to know me.

When we reach the gate, I stumble back to the rear lav (I was only a few rows from the back) and try to clean myself up. I remove the soiled underwear and deposit them into the trash, so for at least a little while there was a UA 320 flying around the west coast carrying a bona fide biohazard near the galley. I make it out of the plane and down the steps to baggage claim, but tell my wife she needs to get us a hotel near the airport, cause there is no way I can handle a rental car shutte and 45 minute car ride to Anaheim.

At baggage claim, the dry heaves start again and I am flattened on the dirty but cool tile floor, unable to lift my head more than a few inches. A crowd starts to encircle me, asking if I need help, and Mrs. Mudder says she's calling an ambulance, to which I agree. My kids are starting to get scared at ths point, saying "My daddy, my daddy." It takes 10 minutes for the broad at the nearby information desk to call 911 because she doesn't know how to dial it. I'll let that one sink in for a second. I tell my wife to just hire a car, pay hundreds of dollars if she has to, just find help getting herself, the kids, and the baggage to a nearby hotel.

Meatwagon arrives, scoops me up, and we head to some nearby LA ER where everyone in there is using it as a primary care facility. Mothers there with their sick children, people wailing in the halls, and I toss and turn ill on a bed for about 4 hours. Finally they get around to me and a nurse offers a shot for the nausea. I apologize to her because I haven't had a shower and have no idea what she's going to find when she pulls down my pants for the shot in the behind.

Instant relief -- I walk right out of the hospital and get a cab back to the hotel -- not puking again for the rest of the trip (though I was weak for 3 days). By this time 2yr Mudder has gotten the bug and is also puking, and we spend most of the week bedridden, turning a nice hotel room quite nasty. We extend the trip by 3 days (paying NW a grand for the privilege) to make sure everyone is truly recovered before risking getting on a plane again. We get one last shot of fun as 2Yr Mudder is no longer sick but still has a sensitive stomach, and he pukes all over Wolgang Pucks in LAX on the way back. Of course, his clothes were in the checked baggage (and this was his last puke-free outfit) so I shopped for a new set for him and could only find a t-shirt at the airport shops. So to wrap up this trip from hell, 2 Yr Mudder flies transcon with no pants on -- only wearing a 2 sizes too big "I love California" t-shirt and a diaper.

Thankfully, both kids slept for the entire flight home.