Saturday, September 28, 2013

I god a code...*sniffle*

I have a cold.  It's just a cold, sore throat, headache, coughing...or, as I like to put it, it feels like I swallowed sandpaper, someone is pounding a spike through my head and I'm fairly sure I am about to hawk up a lung.

You know, just a cold.

I'm no stranger to not feeling well.  I think I manage to stay up beat and positive when my IC (interstitial cystitis) flares and the pain hits. I have to. It's a chronic condition, and if it's going to keep happening, I can't allow myself to be a chronic misery. My friends and family deserve better. I deserve better, or if I don't, at least I have the option of choosing a better attitude, and I know it makes my healing come more quickly and my sanity stick around. So that's good.

But a cold...a cold is fair game.  I am sitting in bed, reeking of Vicks vapo-rub, with a scarf around my throat, sniffling and coughing and moaning periodically, just in case anyone who cares is within ear shot.  Brian has given me strict instructions to stay in bed. Sweet, dear man.  He wants to take care of me, which isn't easy due to the fact that  he is 5 hours away, so his optional plan is to make me take care of myself.  Last night when we Skyped, he took one look at my bleary eyed, sniveling face and winced.

"Whoa. You don't feel good, do you?"

Then he looked helpless.  Worried.  Asked if there was anything that he could do for me. Ordered me to bed, with all the ferocity of a concerned teddy bear.

 I am adorable, hear me roar.

The thing is, I have to go out today. Just for a few minutes. To drop something off at the church. To get a few things at the grocery store. You know, important stuff.

So, if anyone sees me at the IGA in Huntingdon buying cat food...

 *looks both ways, leans in and whispers* will be our little secret. Okay?

I mean seriously, in my weakened state *groan* if the cats run out of food, they're going to start gnawing on my limbs in no time. They won't even need to wait for me to pass out.  I woke up in the middle of the night a few nights ago with Schmitty chewing on my thumb! This is a THING, people!  And yes, the Vicks is a deterrent, sending them spiralling off of the bed in confused, blinky-eyed, sneezing, muttering disdain, but it's going to wear off sometime.

And when it does....oh, the humanity!

At the very least, Jean-Luc has already been in the room several times to warn me, with the anxiety rolling off of him in waves, that the food dishes are only half full. HALF-FULL. That's how bad things have gotten.  He wants to know if I am dying. Because how else would I have allowed his world to fall into such a state of utter disrepair?

*cough, choke, wheeze*

Don't worry about me, though.  I've been through worse.

Ah...ah...achoooooo!  Hey, Grace...does this look infected to you?

Just a thought.

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