So this is a blog coming from a still sick mind, and therefore is going to be long and drawn out. My brain and equilibrium (as well as my lungs), seem to have resisted my non-stop good wishes towards wellness. My own wellness, that is. My body is reminding me that in this last year I have abandoned all of my efforts to really take care of it. Vitamins, while living cozily in my cupboards, have not been participating in my body’s health. The gym, while being paid for automatically for months, has not been a participant in making my body have the will to live. I discovered the double stack cheeseburger at Wendy’s a couple months ago, and have indulged (with a guilty side salad) at least two or three times a week for lunch ever since. I started drinking soda again after literally YEARS of abstinence. My attitude about my own health was an unconcerned one.
I’m not really a big bragger. Things I do brag about include: My kids (isn’t that allowed though?), My awesome thrift shopping abilities (I am almost superhuman in this department. No Jokes.), AND, My awesome immune system. Every year when Derrick and the kids get sick, guess who is always the last woman standing? Year after year of this tends to build the old confidence. I admit it, I was smug in my seeming immunity. I have never even had the chicken pox! HELLO! Kloe just had them a couple months ago, and guess who walked away unscathed yet again?
Enter ten days ago (TEN!), it is a Sunday morning, and I am waking up with a pounding headache that is not helped by the fact that I am shivering uncontrollably. I am in denial that anything serious is going on. I even manage to eventually shower and pull myself together to go to the hospital later when my friend’s have an accident (everything turned out okay there), but I am careful not to breathe on anyone just in case. The next day Derrick leaves for an out of town job- he’s not going to be back until FRIDAY. I wake with a fever, a body that is aching and chilled, but I am confident the ol’ immune system is gonna kick in any second. Enter day three. Actually go back a couple hours to the middle of the night as I lay there seeing red spots, having crazy fever dreams while sweating so much that I finally convince my body that it has to get up and change. Twice. It turns out my body’s strength of will is quite a lot stronger than my mind’s when it is sick. It didn’t want to do ANYTHING I told it too. Even if it was the one that wanted something! The next couple days included: Somehow getting the kids off to school (mostly they just got themselves dressed and fed and then patted me on the head as they walked out the door), and then I would lay on the couch curled into a sweaty little ball. My body would tell my mind it was thirsty. My mind would tell my body to get something to drink. My body would say NO WAY because it knew the sheer hell of hurti-freeziness that it would have to pay up front for the drink. But it wouldn’t leave my mind alone about the thirstiness. To quiet the mind and body, I watched hours of House. I watched the same episode over and over because I couldn’t follow the story. I still don’t really know what that episode was about. The kids finally came home from school and Derrin got me something to drink, which I was eternally grateful for. They made sandwiches for dinner.
The next day I hilariously thought I should try to go to work. Kathrine drove me there and picked me back up exactly twenty minutes later. As soon as I hit the couch, it was a repeat of the day before. Thursday was the same. Friday I got super clever and decided to go to work full of Tylenol and Robuttison. Answering phones that day, and trying to inform people about our programs was interesting to say the least. I somehow got disconnected several times… whether I hung up on them or they hung up on me I can’t say.
When I got home I called my sister to cry on her shoulder about how sick I was and about what a horrible day I had just had at work. She stopped me and asked why I was talking so funny. Turns out I was talking much slower than normal. Well, that was just great! I had just spent an entire day at work, answering phones in crazy slow motion voice! I called up my supervisor to tell her how upset I was about working under the influence of cold medicine, but then I hung up on her too. That was it. I gave up at that point.
Derrick came home that night, but he had to leave the very next day to see his brother. He took Derrin with him. Shannon and Phil came and took Kloe home with them (THANK YOU!) so she could actually go outside and play instead of staying inside with nearly dead mommy(sounds like an inaction figure). I lay on the couch in my sweaty little ball, shivering and being thirsty. When it was time to eat, I would take Robuttison and in awhile I could get something (in slow motion). Anyways, you get the picture. Sunday came and went, and I still had a fever. Monday a new symptom arrived in the form of the inability to breathe. By that time Derrick was home, and he made an appointment with the doctor. Even though she really helped, and it was the turning point for the good, her breathing treatment nearly knocked me off the rest of the way. On the way home I lay in the passenger side gasping for breath, and not being able to get any air at ALL. It was seriously scary! He took me home to his mom, who made sure I took my medicine all day long (every half hour), PLUS she gave me all the juice and water I could drink. This was the healing day.
That whole night I heard the death rattle in my lungs, and I knew it would only get worse and worse until I gave into the need to cough. I would fight as long as possible, but it was inevitable. I have to say my abs feel firmer than they have in years.
Yesterday I called in sick again, and laid on the couch, but it was getting better. By night I was able to take Derrin to his guitar lesson, although he told me that I looked sick and he wanted Gramma to take him. Ah, little boys don’t know the magic of make-up (to hide the dead skin look), cute hats (to hide the flat, haven’t fixed in a week hair), and big sweaters (to hide the shivering). The point is, I was TIRED of being sick, and enough was enough.
I went to work today. Even though I am not 100% (I still am on this darned couch, not quite up to cleaning the house, or doing the stacks of laundry), it is definitely getting better. I even lost about five pounds, although it could be the bad kind of weight loss that comes from not moving for days at a time. Maybe my appetite will stay minimal for awhile.
Anyways, that is my story about being sick. Take is as a cautionary one. It is telling you to TAKE CARE of yourself and also DON’T BRAG or being overconfident in your body’s ability to stay healthy. If I can leave you (and myself) with any lesson, let it be those.
I’m not really a big bragger. Things I do brag about include: My kids (isn’t that allowed though?), My awesome thrift shopping abilities (I am almost superhuman in this department. No Jokes.), AND, My awesome immune system. Every year when Derrick and the kids get sick, guess who is always the last woman standing? Year after year of this tends to build the old confidence. I admit it, I was smug in my seeming immunity. I have never even had the chicken pox! HELLO! Kloe just had them a couple months ago, and guess who walked away unscathed yet again?
Enter ten days ago (TEN!), it is a Sunday morning, and I am waking up with a pounding headache that is not helped by the fact that I am shivering uncontrollably. I am in denial that anything serious is going on. I even manage to eventually shower and pull myself together to go to the hospital later when my friend’s have an accident (everything turned out okay there), but I am careful not to breathe on anyone just in case. The next day Derrick leaves for an out of town job- he’s not going to be back until FRIDAY. I wake with a fever, a body that is aching and chilled, but I am confident the ol’ immune system is gonna kick in any second. Enter day three. Actually go back a couple hours to the middle of the night as I lay there seeing red spots, having crazy fever dreams while sweating so much that I finally convince my body that it has to get up and change. Twice. It turns out my body’s strength of will is quite a lot stronger than my mind’s when it is sick. It didn’t want to do ANYTHING I told it too. Even if it was the one that wanted something! The next couple days included: Somehow getting the kids off to school (mostly they just got themselves dressed and fed and then patted me on the head as they walked out the door), and then I would lay on the couch curled into a sweaty little ball. My body would tell my mind it was thirsty. My mind would tell my body to get something to drink. My body would say NO WAY because it knew the sheer hell of hurti-freeziness that it would have to pay up front for the drink. But it wouldn’t leave my mind alone about the thirstiness. To quiet the mind and body, I watched hours of House. I watched the same episode over and over because I couldn’t follow the story. I still don’t really know what that episode was about. The kids finally came home from school and Derrin got me something to drink, which I was eternally grateful for. They made sandwiches for dinner.
The next day I hilariously thought I should try to go to work. Kathrine drove me there and picked me back up exactly twenty minutes later. As soon as I hit the couch, it was a repeat of the day before. Thursday was the same. Friday I got super clever and decided to go to work full of Tylenol and Robuttison. Answering phones that day, and trying to inform people about our programs was interesting to say the least. I somehow got disconnected several times… whether I hung up on them or they hung up on me I can’t say.
When I got home I called my sister to cry on her shoulder about how sick I was and about what a horrible day I had just had at work. She stopped me and asked why I was talking so funny. Turns out I was talking much slower than normal. Well, that was just great! I had just spent an entire day at work, answering phones in crazy slow motion voice! I called up my supervisor to tell her how upset I was about working under the influence of cold medicine, but then I hung up on her too. That was it. I gave up at that point.
Derrick came home that night, but he had to leave the very next day to see his brother. He took Derrin with him. Shannon and Phil came and took Kloe home with them (THANK YOU!) so she could actually go outside and play instead of staying inside with nearly dead mommy(sounds like an inaction figure). I lay on the couch in my sweaty little ball, shivering and being thirsty. When it was time to eat, I would take Robuttison and in awhile I could get something (in slow motion). Anyways, you get the picture. Sunday came and went, and I still had a fever. Monday a new symptom arrived in the form of the inability to breathe. By that time Derrick was home, and he made an appointment with the doctor. Even though she really helped, and it was the turning point for the good, her breathing treatment nearly knocked me off the rest of the way. On the way home I lay in the passenger side gasping for breath, and not being able to get any air at ALL. It was seriously scary! He took me home to his mom, who made sure I took my medicine all day long (every half hour), PLUS she gave me all the juice and water I could drink. This was the healing day.
That whole night I heard the death rattle in my lungs, and I knew it would only get worse and worse until I gave into the need to cough. I would fight as long as possible, but it was inevitable. I have to say my abs feel firmer than they have in years.
Yesterday I called in sick again, and laid on the couch, but it was getting better. By night I was able to take Derrin to his guitar lesson, although he told me that I looked sick and he wanted Gramma to take him. Ah, little boys don’t know the magic of make-up (to hide the dead skin look), cute hats (to hide the flat, haven’t fixed in a week hair), and big sweaters (to hide the shivering). The point is, I was TIRED of being sick, and enough was enough.
I went to work today. Even though I am not 100% (I still am on this darned couch, not quite up to cleaning the house, or doing the stacks of laundry), it is definitely getting better. I even lost about five pounds, although it could be the bad kind of weight loss that comes from not moving for days at a time. Maybe my appetite will stay minimal for awhile.
Anyways, that is my story about being sick. Take is as a cautionary one. It is telling you to TAKE CARE of yourself and also DON’T BRAG or being overconfident in your body’s ability to stay healthy. If I can leave you (and myself) with any lesson, let it be those.
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