yet another post about me being sick
Monday I dragged myself out of bed and off to work, convinced that my weariness was a combination of exhaustion from the long weekend, too many drinks over the course of the previous four days, and my general dissatisfaction with my job right now. I’ll perk up after some eggs and a cup of coffee, I thought.
I didn’t perk up. In fact, I went home an hour early, vaguely disappointed in myself for not being able to slug it out.
Tuesday, I felt like I was on the mend. I was entirely too busy running around, dealing with one issue after the other to notice that I was sick, or to notice that all that was really propping me up was caffeine and teeth-gritting angst.
Wednesday morning found me feeling like I could sleep for a few more hours, but that’s nothing unusual for when I’ve stayed up till one in the morning the night before poking around on this world wide web of ours. I powered through the morning, making a whirlwind tour of some field sites and cranking out some paperwork. I was doing great right up until it was time for us to have a team lunch and meet our new program manager, and I realized that I was barely able to hold myself upright. The fever had me slipping in and out of altered states, and I let the peculiar spatial hallucinations come, glad that I didn’t have to drive anywhere else.
I went home after that, and slept. And slept and slept.
Today I didn’t exactly bound out of bed, but I definitely felt better. I made it through the whole day, and got a reasonable amount of work done. I also learned something that I was just beginning to tune into yesterday: despite my ever advancing age, apparently I am still broadcasting the simple message NEEDS MOTHERING on some aetheric channel beyond the ken of mortal men. I can only conclude that this must be the case because it seemed like every woman in my department stopped by my cube to check up on me, practically lining up to take turns putting their hands on my forehead. “How are you doing, sweetie?” they’d ask.
“Fine,” I’d grate, and knowing that I wasn’t very convincing I’d take a drink of my echinacea tea before doing my best to project vigor and liveliness. “I’m good! I really think I’m getting better.”
Of course this wasn’t fooling anyone, so they retreated a few paces into the aisle to talk about me. “I don’t care for his color; he’s gone from pale this morning to all flushed now.”
“He still feels a little hot.”
“I tried to get him to take a Tylenol yesterday, but he’s just so stubborn.”
“I can still hear you,” I said.
“Honey, are you getting enough fluids? Do you want some water?”
“No, I’m okay.”
“You sure? I’ve got an extra bottle of water at my desk.”
“…”
“I’ll go grab it for you.”
“Okay,” I said, sheepishly.
I suppose it could be worse. And anyway, I’m feeling better now. Really!
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