I dislike being sick. I dislike it so intensely that most of the time, the viruses don’t even bother with me. I don’t like being taken care of. I don’t like having to stay in bed, mostly immobile, helpless and utterly miserable.
I wasn’t feeling too great by the time I got home Friday night. Not much of an appetite, a little queasy. Stress and sinuses, I figured. Well, by about 9:30, it was more than obvious that it was some kind of stomach bug. I couldn’t keep down even the smallest sip of water. I didn’t sleep much Friday night. My skin felt raw. My back hurt, and for a while, I was tempted to simply take my pillow into the bathroom to shorten the frequent trips.
Yesterday was spent sleeping, slowly sipping water, Gatorade and ginger ale, begrudgingly munching oyster crackers and wondering if I would ever get well. I started running a very slight fever in the evening, but it didn’t last, doused with a cold pack, an Aleve and more Gatorade and oyster crackers. After watching the San Francisco 49rs make Drew Brees and the Saints look like a terrified high school team, I crawled off to bed and slept. For like twelve hours. And stayed in bed for a couple more.
I feel way better today but still not well. A little lightheaded, weak, sore, in bad need of a bath but feeding myself chicken noodle soup and of course more Gatorade.
I’m very glad I have a three day weekend. I doubt very much I’d go to work tomorrow if I had to. I may not go in on Tuesday. Depends on how much I can recover by then. Maybe I’ll stay home just on principal. I haven’t been sick like this in a very long time, haven’t taken any sick time from work since last spring.
Needless to say any plans I had have been wiped out. Maybe I’ll feel well enough later today or tomorrow to do a little bit of writing. Laundry has to be done at some point or I won’t be going to work on Tuesday for lack of clean clothes. I’m sure laundry is a reasonable excuse to stay home.