Dena seemed about to respond, but instead, she belched again, a smaller belch that seemed unequal as a harbinger to the monstrous chunky gush that erupted from inside her. I held her hair back and looked away as she finished retching. Working with children had made me less squeamish--they were constantly presenting their grubby hands to your, having accidents--but at some point, disgusting was still disgusting, Especially with an adult woman.
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Dena hesitated to reply but instead emitted another small belch, which led to a larger and more unpleasant episode of vomiting. I instinctively held back her hair while diverting my gaze, unable to watch her struggle. My experience with children had somewhat hardened me to bodily functions, as I frequently dealt with their messes. However, the sight of an adult woman in such a state still left me feeling unsettled.

The contrast between handling children's accidents and witnessing an adult's distress highlights the limits of my tolerance for gross situations. While I had learned to manage the chaos that comes with caring for kids, I found that some scenarios, especially involving adults, still challenged my comfort level. The moment served as a reminder of how certain expectations of maturity and cleanliness can be easily overturned by unexpected physical reactions.

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February 20, 2025

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