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overrdue catchup again, continued
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Later that day (last Sunday), we went to a party at a neighbor's, and had a great time. After I came home, my throat seemed a little sore. I went to my regular weekly chat, and got to bed midnight-ish. Four hours later, I was sick as a parrot, my head was light and dizzy, I couldn't walk straight, I felt weak, and every time I coughed, my head felt like it was splitting open. I went to bed and stayed there. Whenever I woke up from my fever dreams, I knew I had gotten some sleep. I would drink some water and return to the obsessive, work-resembling repetitions of near-nothingness. That's how I spent Monday.
The next day, I felt somewhat better. My temperature was down from 103 to 100.5. I decided I was strong enough to take my pills and fiber, which was perhaps a bit overoptimistic. Cathy got me a doctor's appointment, and took me in around mid-day. I sagged in a seat, groaning as quietly as possible and telling myself it wasn't as bad as waiting in the ER when I had a kidney stone. Then I was taken in, at the actual time specified, weighed, readings taken, questions asked, and told the doctor would be in soon. Eventually, I was wheeled to radiology and back, and waited for a verdict. Turns out I have pneumonia.
Where would I have gotten pneumonia? My best guess is it happened when I was exerting myself on the last clear days to get leaves from the back out to the front for pickup. I had dragged two tarp loads and felt so rotten I couldn't try another. So I stayed home with my disease, sending excuses for library and school activities I'd been committed to. The other volunteers saw the wisdom in not having somebody with pneumonia rolling out dough for gingerbread men, for instance. I knew the Christmas cards could wait, though I still cherish plans of getting them out somewhat early (for us). But I had one job that I needed to get done, a publishing job with a client waiting, so I worked all day Wednesday on that, logging some nine hours (and taking a long nap in the middle of it) at a deliberate pace. Not shirking. I'll be sending that job to the publisher soon, I'm happy to say. Mission accomplished, and I even earned some money. I made the last corrections lying in bed (just like I am now).
All through this time, there have been phone calls. Most seem to be robo-calls from someone named Lisa Parker at Credit Card Services. She wants to save me money. We're paying too much. I've been healthy enough to scream at the phone and not have my head hurt after. That must be a good sign. After this morning's televisit from Lisa, I began to wonder if this is some kind of plot. I'm thinking that I'm being conditioned, and that one day I'll be at a museum handling throwing knives or something, and see somebody with a nametag that says "Lisa Parker" and before I know it, there'll be a knife quivering in the name tag, and a nice man with a tie will want me to come downtown with him and answer some questions. Meanwhile, in an undisclosed location, Lisa Parker's arch-enemy will be chuckling in a sneery way, petting a white cat, and putting a big red X through a wall-sized photo of the late Ms. Parker.
.
Later that day (last Sunday), we went to a party at a neighbor's, and had a great time. After I came home, my throat seemed a little sore. I went to my regular weekly chat, and got to bed midnight-ish. Four hours later, I was sick as a parrot, my head was light and dizzy, I couldn't walk straight, I felt weak, and every time I coughed, my head felt like it was splitting open. I went to bed and stayed there. Whenever I woke up from my fever dreams, I knew I had gotten some sleep. I would drink some water and return to the obsessive, work-resembling repetitions of near-nothingness. That's how I spent Monday.
The next day, I felt somewhat better. My temperature was down from 103 to 100.5. I decided I was strong enough to take my pills and fiber, which was perhaps a bit overoptimistic. Cathy got me a doctor's appointment, and took me in around mid-day. I sagged in a seat, groaning as quietly as possible and telling myself it wasn't as bad as waiting in the ER when I had a kidney stone. Then I was taken in, at the actual time specified, weighed, readings taken, questions asked, and told the doctor would be in soon. Eventually, I was wheeled to radiology and back, and waited for a verdict. Turns out I have pneumonia.
Where would I have gotten pneumonia? My best guess is it happened when I was exerting myself on the last clear days to get leaves from the back out to the front for pickup. I had dragged two tarp loads and felt so rotten I couldn't try another. So I stayed home with my disease, sending excuses for library and school activities I'd been committed to. The other volunteers saw the wisdom in not having somebody with pneumonia rolling out dough for gingerbread men, for instance. I knew the Christmas cards could wait, though I still cherish plans of getting them out somewhat early (for us). But I had one job that I needed to get done, a publishing job with a client waiting, so I worked all day Wednesday on that, logging some nine hours (and taking a long nap in the middle of it) at a deliberate pace. Not shirking. I'll be sending that job to the publisher soon, I'm happy to say. Mission accomplished, and I even earned some money. I made the last corrections lying in bed (just like I am now).
All through this time, there have been phone calls. Most seem to be robo-calls from someone named Lisa Parker at Credit Card Services. She wants to save me money. We're paying too much. I've been healthy enough to scream at the phone and not have my head hurt after. That must be a good sign. After this morning's televisit from Lisa, I began to wonder if this is some kind of plot. I'm thinking that I'm being conditioned, and that one day I'll be at a museum handling throwing knives or something, and see somebody with a nametag that says "Lisa Parker" and before I know it, there'll be a knife quivering in the name tag, and a nice man with a tie will want me to come downtown with him and answer some questions. Meanwhile, in an undisclosed location, Lisa Parker's arch-enemy will be chuckling in a sneery way, petting a white cat, and putting a big red X through a wall-sized photo of the late Ms. Parker.
.
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Best wishes for a speedy recovery!
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I just thought I would mention that, as a general tenet. Carry on! Also, feel better.
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Boy, I hope you feel better soon.
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