So sick. Friday morning I woke with chills and a cough and called in sick, which I never do when I am actually sick, and spent the day sleeping - waking only to medicate myself when the fever spiked, which it did every four hours. Last night it turned into interval-barfing, which seems to have tapered off now and I am dying of thirst. Shawn has gone out to get me some juice because he drank it all.
I have concluded that if I was terminally ill, Shawn would probably leave me in the care of someone else rather than take care of me himself. He forgets I exist when I am sleeping, and is frightened of touching me in case he catches something. Not that I blame him. I am disgusting right now.
The puppies, who I always anthropomorphize as sensitive and loving, are horrible to be around when I am ill. They have hot bodies, and they cram themselves into my hot spots and add to my fever. They absolutely refuse to move when I push them. And to an achy, sensitive body, they feel like sleeping with four big industrial staplers, all points and sharp edges and joints. They poke and jab me with their elbows, and glare at me resentfully when I struggle out of bed to go and barf again.
I do not think I can make it to work tomorrow either unless I experience miraculous improvement. This has been the most sick I can remember being, unrelated to wine.
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2 comments:
Ooh, I'm sorry. I hate being sick.
Me too. Hoping for an end to the misery soon...
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