I don’t get sick often. Maybe a cold once a year, with a cough, stuffy nose and sneezing. Nothing a few days of soup, cough drops and OTC meds cannot handle.
But leave it to dealing with a stressful situation to leave me open to a bacterial infection: 102.5-degree fever, sweats and chills, aches and pains. The shivering was nonstop; I could not drive my car unless the heat was on, and using the computer keyboard was impossible. I hate to think what Autocorrect would have done to my work, had I allowed it to be checked.
So, a Z-pack (my first ever, child of the brown-bottle age that I am) and a good supply of soup and other liquids on hand, I am feeling better. The infection was likely picked up at the hospital my mother was in (my doctor says he hates sending anyone to a hospital, because it only makes them sick), and had it not been for the stress of her passing, something I could have fought.
The Husband wanted to know if I was going to work this morning, since he did actually witness me getting out of bed early. And it wasn’t really a question, more of a statement. I never begrudged him couch time when ill or in pain, and now he’s asking me, after I ran close to an emergency-room temperature less than 24 hours ago if a day in the office is on the agenda? I’m not generally at a loss for words, but this time, he really did take the words out of my mouth – and brain.
It’s my own fault. I’ve been FreakingFabulousFemale for a long time. Able to work sixteen-hour days, even when mom was ill, and still get to see her and take care of all her affairs. Capable of working two jobs for money, plus volunteer, plus keep a clean house, plus feed The Husband and cats, plus act as Information Central for updates on mom, and now, updates on the service and dinner we are planning.
I’m flattened. And I have the bacterial boo-boo to prove it. According to my doctor, my throat looks like it has enough white bacteria patches to qualify as a hazardous waste dump – kinda like my fridge, only not as cold.
I hate being sick and deprived of my normal life, but then again, it happens. I’m a two-fisted drinker for the duration of this thing (chicken soup in one hand and diluted sports drink in the other). Now, if you don’t mind, I’m heading to the couch for something I haven’t done in years. I’m taking a nap.