Look at Your Life...Look at Your Choices.: I Got Sick.

I got sick. Real sick.

Which is to say I got a cold.

...a cold with a fever of 102.5F (39C for Canada and the rest of the modern world).

It was bad. It was unpleasant. It was, hands down, the sickest I have been since I was 12 years old with a fever of 103F, and stayed home sick watching "Batman Returns".

...Back then I had my mom to question whether or not I was really sick (or just had a case of "schoolitis"), and to nurse me back to health with Popsicles and subtle criticisms.

This time I was grown up sick.

...Grown up sick sucks.

Grown up sick means you have to weigh staying home and healing, versus not getting paid. It means that you run out of food because you can't go shopping. It means that your apartment looks like you died and cleaned nothing because...well...yea.

My husband took care of me on the weekend, but when he had to go to work during the week, there was no one to ask me if I was feeling okay. No one to make me food. No one to make sure I took medicine to keep my fever down...

...and as it turns out, without supervision OR Tylenol, I would most likely be dead now.

HOW DID IT COME TO THIS?!!

I woke up on the ironically named Good Friday with my throat feeling a bit dry. I wrote it off as a side effect of living with cats who habitually sleep on my face in an adorable attempt to smother me in my sleep.

We got up, bathed in coffee (as one does) and headed out to meet my folks and visit my Grandmother. All seemed good.

evil mastermind...obviously.

...but after visiting with my Grandmother, I felt...drained. Much more so than is normal when visiting family... We headed home, and discovered we needed some groceries. I managed to drag myself along with Mitch to the corner fruit & veg store to buy some lettuce. On the way back in the swelteringly hot 8C temp I insisted we grab some gelato and some more weather-appropriate ginger tea in an attempt to quash these were feelings of:

"OMFG I'M BOILING TO DEATH"
and
"OMFG I'M FREEZING TO DEATH"

Gelato was had, tea was drunk, but still, these nagging feelings of "YOUR BODY NEEDS YOU TO SIT THE FUCK DOWN" wouldn't dissipate...

We returned home. I sat down on the sofa, exhausted. My nose now running non-stop. I am alternating minute-to-minute between sweating and shivering...Solution?

"Mitch...can you make ramen...?"

Look, we all have our comfort foods...one of mine happens to be something that is shockingly not food-like, and is HORRIBLE for you. Oh whatever, I always add an egg...now it's a meal.

I weakly manage to eat my sad ramen meal...my body is disappointed in me. I am disappointed in my body...we have a short Mexican stand-off. My body wins by virtue of owning the playing field and I collapse into sickness.

For 3 days I barely leave the sofa. I wrap myself in a blanket, and watch a mix of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Doctor Who, and documentaries on the evolution of early humans...

As I slip in and out of consciousness, my core temp rising, I am plagued by guilt over the fact that I probably just infected my Grandmother and her entire nursing home with the most virulent plague-cold of all time.

Feels bad man.

...I am also guilt-ridden over not having done any work on my Doctor Who spec script (wherein they go back in time to see pre-historic humans, only to find modern day humans hanging around with Neanderthals...ooo, mystery!)

Also feels bad man.

Mitch heads out to visit his father...I am alone.

...the fever begins...the fever DREAMS begin...

Suddenly I am in my unwritten Doctor Who spec script...I dream of travelling back in time with the doctor to 50,000 years ago. We see Neanderthals and other early hominids...also some hipsters. I am overwhelmed by plot holes and claw my way back into waking life.

As I criticize myself for such a poorly written dream-world spec script, I notice that although I feel like I am freezing, my skin is hot to the touch...the thought of getting up and walking to the bathroom to get Tylenol fills me with dread...besides, there is a cat on me.

I fumble my way through Netflix...must find something soothing...something heart warming...AH HA! True Crime! Perfect!

My fever dreams now involve refrigerators full of body parts and vengeful lovers...I am disappoint in myself.

I'm Bill Kurtis...HAUNTING YOUR DREAMS!

Finally, Mitch returns home...I can only grunt in response to his annoying questions of "Are you okay?" and "Have you been drinking water at all?" and "OH MY GOD YOU'RE LIKE 1000 DEGREES!!!"

He gives me Tylenol, cold compresses, and takes away my blanket...the swine...! My fever begins to come down, in a semi-rational state I thank him...But I still want my blanket back...

He brings me Ichiban Ramen (because health?), and in thanks, I force him to watch "Keeping Up Appearances"...because my childhood of TVO and PBS demand it of me.