The worst for me happened a couple years ago. Mr. Athena and I were in Chicago, at a work conference (we work for the same company) and decided to stay a few extra days after it ended and hang out in the city.
We were scheduled to fly out on Sunday around 5pm. So we got up Sunday morning, checked out of our hotel, left our bags with the hotel doormen, and walked to the Art Institute. Mr. Athena mentioned grabbing some coffee or breakfast on the way, but I really didn’t feel like it, which was unusual to me (I’m the type who doesn’t function without coffee). At the time, I just put it down to the after-effects of a week of eating poorly and drinking a bit too much.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. Within an hour of getting to the Art Institute, my stomach was NOT happy. I was feeling very, very clammy, and on the edge of vomiting. I ended up spending a couple hours in the public bathroom, vomiting, trying to pull myself together & not succeeding, and vomiting again. We had NOWHERE to go, as we’d checked out of the hotel, and we needed to catch a plane. I was absolutely miserable, trying to keep myself close enough to a bathroom so I didn’t end up puking in the museum itself.
When I finally reached a moderate equilibrium, Mr. Athena threw me in a cab, we sped to the hotel to grab our bags, and then to the airport. Spent another hour in the airport bathroom; by then, I’d emptied my stomach so it wasn’t quite so dire as it was earlier.
We made it on the plane, we got home, and I was fine the next day. I think it was a bit of food poisoning. But it was truly one of the worse experiences of my life, to be THAT sick, and not have a bed or private place to retreat to.