Apparently when the Puke Fairy made her final (I hope) exit from our house a few days ago, she left the window open so that her fucking crack whore sister The Flu Fairy could get in. Let me tell you, people, that fucking bitch is mean. First she took hubs down, but somehow he managed to keep going to work for a few days, I have no idea how he did that. Then Child 2 was struck down Thursday afternoon and I followed Friday morning.
This was a nasty one. You know that feeling where every single joint and muscle of your body aches like a motherfucker and your skin feels like it's been turned inside out and all of your nerve endings are now on the outside of your body and any time you touch anything it's like you're being stabbed with a jagged, rusty knife? That feeling? That feeling would have been fucking heaven compared to the shit I felt. I couldn't sit up for more than a few minutes at a time because it was too exhausting. I couldn't go up and down the stairs in my house because the effort involved in putting any weight on any of my muscles was just too great, but it didn't matter, anyway, since I couldn't walk, because the bottoms of my feet were too sore. So, instead, I laid in bed (not even my own bed, either.... long story....) and just moaned.
I couldn't sleep, because finding a comfortable position was simply impossible, and then whenever I actually started dozing off, my fucking moaning would wake me up! Can you believe that shit??? It was a nightmare. And then there were the fever dreams, when I did manage to finally pass out. I so wish there was a way to record these things so that I could watch it back later. I'm pretty sure I was working out some kind of molecular physics problem with the way my brain wouldn't slow down. Either that or I came up with the absolute perfect recipe for Jalapeno corn bread. Or perhaps a combination of the two. Either way, all of my mental energy was being put into working on this complicated problem, thus preventing me from getting any actual rest. And then I would just moan and wake myself up again, anyway. Oh joy.
At some point during the night I guess my fever broke because I woke up drenched in sweat. I got up to pee and when I came back to bed I could see the pools of sweat where I'd been lying. But then when I climbed back in to go back to sleep, I thought "I'm so glad I worked that problem out and found a resolution." Apparently my molecular physics/corn bread issue had been resolved and this was the key to my eventual wellness.
Now, usually what I do when I've been sick and start to feel a bit better is I say "Hey, I'm feeling better! I'd better get up and start doing stuff now." Like cleaning the kitchen or loading the laundry or something. This is stupid, because just because my fever is gone it doesn't mean I'm actually better; I still need to stay in bed for at least the rest of the weekend. I can't help it, though, this is what I do; and then I overdo it, and then I stay sick for a lot longer than I should because I was fucking stupid and wouldn't just lie down. This time, though, I've decided to take preemptive action by taking enough xanax to kill a small horse so that I won't have a choice but to lie down. I realize it just makes me an accomplice for the powerful American Rest and Fluids Industry, but sometimes you have to just look out for #1, you know?
Hubs has been a fucking rock star, by the way. He's still sick, himself, and hasn't slept really at all in the past week, but he's still taking care of shit around here. Every once in a while he'll come in, wake me up and make me eat something. He's been taking care of Child 2, who is in really bad shape and won't do anything except lie on the bed and moan. I know how he feels. And then my awesome cousin Lizzie (have I ever mentioned how awesome my cousins are? Yes? Repeatedly? Okay.) came and took Child 1 on an adventure so he wouldn't be stuck in the house the whole weekend.
I'm going back to sleep now, the truckload of xanax I've taken has made me a smidge drowsy.....