poorly poorly
So last week, I decided to get sick. Aaaaaall the sick. There was no more sick left over for anyone else. Turns out not to have been the best decision of all time ever. Not even in the top ten.
It started last Sunday when I decided to get under a blanket, just for five minutes or so, just to get warm before I did my usual get ready for the week run around. Mind you, at this point, I felt pretty much fine. I mean, maybe there was a cold coming 'round, but doubtful. Probably I just needed to get warm. I'd say, oh, about fifteen minutes later, I knew I was in a bad way. I was shivering, practically to the point of convulsion, and the thought of going for the thermometer was nearly more than I could bear. Well, I buoyed my strength and made the seven minute walk to the bathroom and much to my chagrin, my fever was 101.8.
I figured it was wrong, since by that point I was seeing mirages in my living room from the excessive heat (I'm sure a gremlin turned the heat up when I was resting my nine pound eyelids), and surely I'd seen wrong. So, I placed the thermometer under my pasty tongue once more, and waited for the one hundred and ten decibel level screech to sound again, telling me it was time to re-read my temperature. 102.6. Yeah. Bad decision. Why did I decide to get sick again? Off to bed with me.
Come around six o'clock the following day, I woke up to the ringing phone. I was able to pick up by the twenty-second ring, and it was my mother. "I'm taking you to the hospital," she screeched into my ear. Probably she only said it, but it took a while for the words to stop bouncing off of the inside of my forehead, so it really seemed screechie to me.
Anyway, long story short (better make it short, it took four hours at the hospital, and I'll not bother with those lousy details, other than to say that it was Satan's own waiting room), I got the drugs that I needed, and all of the acidophilus required to combat the, er, undesired results of the antibiotics. It's Saturday now, and I'd say I'm at a roaring seventy percent of my former self, which loosely translates to seven hundred percent improvement. Go me.
The most embarrassing (well, embarrassing if you are anyone but me) part of it all? Wearing a pad when you're not in your "moon time" because you pee every time you cough, as you are apparently delirious with the fever. That is basically awesome.
Who'd've thunk bronchitis could be so danged fun. And here I always thought it was just a bad cough.
arrivederci, rebecca marie
It started last Sunday when I decided to get under a blanket, just for five minutes or so, just to get warm before I did my usual get ready for the week run around. Mind you, at this point, I felt pretty much fine. I mean, maybe there was a cold coming 'round, but doubtful. Probably I just needed to get warm. I'd say, oh, about fifteen minutes later, I knew I was in a bad way. I was shivering, practically to the point of convulsion, and the thought of going for the thermometer was nearly more than I could bear. Well, I buoyed my strength and made the seven minute walk to the bathroom and much to my chagrin, my fever was 101.8.
I figured it was wrong, since by that point I was seeing mirages in my living room from the excessive heat (I'm sure a gremlin turned the heat up when I was resting my nine pound eyelids), and surely I'd seen wrong. So, I placed the thermometer under my pasty tongue once more, and waited for the one hundred and ten decibel level screech to sound again, telling me it was time to re-read my temperature. 102.6. Yeah. Bad decision. Why did I decide to get sick again? Off to bed with me.
Come around six o'clock the following day, I woke up to the ringing phone. I was able to pick up by the twenty-second ring, and it was my mother. "I'm taking you to the hospital," she screeched into my ear. Probably she only said it, but it took a while for the words to stop bouncing off of the inside of my forehead, so it really seemed screechie to me.
Anyway, long story short (better make it short, it took four hours at the hospital, and I'll not bother with those lousy details, other than to say that it was Satan's own waiting room), I got the drugs that I needed, and all of the acidophilus required to combat the, er, undesired results of the antibiotics. It's Saturday now, and I'd say I'm at a roaring seventy percent of my former self, which loosely translates to seven hundred percent improvement. Go me.
The most embarrassing (well, embarrassing if you are anyone but me) part of it all? Wearing a pad when you're not in your "moon time" because you pee every time you cough, as you are apparently delirious with the fever. That is basically awesome.
Who'd've thunk bronchitis could be so danged fun. And here I always thought it was just a bad cough.
arrivederci, rebecca marie
proclaimed by rebecca marie at 5:10 PM
2 flattering compliments:
I think superflywebpimp may very well appreciate your pad comment. I know I like to talk "feminine hygiene" with perfect strangers. I bet he never thought he would get to know this much about you in such a short amount of time. You are basically awesome.
over a month later . . . i just read this posting. great story! made me smile.
i mean, i should apologize for smiling at your discomfort, but i assume that over a month later it might be ok to crack a tiny smile.
thanks for the illustration of what can cause you to have to wear a pad when you aren't on your moon. (that's great that we use the same terms for that, um, interesting period in our cycles).
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