It's pretty unusual for me to go a working day without posting, and yesterday's reason was thusly:
Monday night Mike and I get into bed. As he arranges the covers and otherwise jostles the bed, I crankily ask him if he could keep it down since all the movement was making me nauseous.
"Are you not feeling good? This shouldn't be making you nauseous."
Hum. Hank had been under the weather all weekend and come to think, I did feel a twinge of nausea, even while lying still. I pledged that I hoped all would be well come morning, and that I thought I was fine.
Two hours later I awake, chilled to the bone and shivering uncontrollably.
This is bad.
I try a number of different positions to stay warmer. All fail miserably. Finally, I get out of bed and huffily tug on a pair of yoga pants under my nightgown to warm my legs. I feel dizzy the entire time.
This is really bad.
For the next hour or so I toss. And I turn. I toss and turn. My muscles all ache. Eventually, my soft moaning wakes Mike.
"Are you ok?"
"I'm really sick."
"Do you need anything?"
"No, not right now."
"Ok, well wake me if you do."
An hour later I awaken, my body ABLAZE. Great. It takes renewed dizzy effort to wrench off the yoga pants plus my socks. The effort results in me feeling as though I may vomit, but I know that my unsteadiness on my feet means that I'll never make it to the bathroom. I stumble to the trash can but manage to stave it off. I have been known to stave off vomiting by sheer strength of will in the past. I'm not saying that this is in fact a good thing, it just is what it is.
I stumble back to bed. Suddenly I realize that I am thirsty, VERY THIRSTY. I think about my chilled aluminum bottle of water in the refrigerator. It's so...crisp and cold and wonderful. Going downstairs to get it is absolutely out of the question, however.
"Honey? Honey are you awake..."
Well, there goes that idea. I know he said to wake him, but I feel too guilty. Morning is what? Only 4 hours away.
I lie there and actually *fantasize* about water. Springs of living water. Waterfalls, pools. I think about oases in the desert, like when we watched Lawrence of Arabia a few weeks back. I toss and turn fitfully for the rest of the night.
Come morning, I know that the chances of me getting to work are 0%. I call in sick (a rarity for me) and spend the day on the couch and up in bed. No easy feat with my daughter around, but we managed. All food looked repulsive. I just drank and drank and drank. Water, orange juice, tea.
By evening, I was somewhat functional again. I was able to take a shower, and when the kids went to bed, I took out my crafting. Sadly, even that didn't hold the appeal it usually does. I'm crocheting a cupcake, and it wasn't turning out the way I wanted. The top was just pointier than it should be. It looked kind of like a nipple, but I couldn't bring myself to admit it. Mike wanders into the living room.
"Does this cupcake look all right to you?"
"It looks like a boob."
So there you have it. Although the day ended with the boob cupcake in the trash, I could feel myself on the mend, so all was well. And it was nice to be home with Mike and the kids.
This morning, I could tell that I felt a lot better. Food still isn't looking all that appealing, and I have a horrifying rash from the fever breaking (lovely, I know) but I feel fairly normal.
I'm getting anxious about the conclave, but if the cardinals aren't anxious, why should I be?
I'm glad to be back at work where I can obsessively check the news every hour on the hour.