Sunday, April 13, 2008

Being sick isn't even remotely cute.

A few days ago, I woke up with a "rattle" in my chest. Nothing big. Didn't stop me from going to work. Or to Seattle for that matter.

A few days later and I'm a coughing, wheezing, sneezing, ear-popping, red-nosed, feverish snot factory.

Take yesterday for example: My husband's been busy since I've been home, so he'd only popped in a few times to see me. And when he did I'd do my best to straighten up and be presentable.

But who am I kidding? There was nothing cute about sitting in pajamas among a foot-deep pile of used kleenexes. And, all the Menthol Halls candy in the world probably didn't do a thing for "sick breath". I'd taken showers to clear my head, but I hadn't done my hair... so frankly my reddish/brownish curly hair resembled that of an orangutan that lost a fight. But, I pulled it behind my ears and smiled sheepishly past my chapped nose and said something sweet to my husband who asked if I need anything.

When my nose wasn't runny, it decided it was done working all together and stopped up. The only relief in that is that the sneezing stopped. But I'd rather have sneezed than have breathed through my mouth with the wheeze that came from my chest... I'm afraid I'd started to sound like one of those walking trees in The Lord of The Rings.

So, I popped off the cap of my Drixoral nasal spray. I jammed the spray nozzle up my chapped nostril just in time to see my husband walk in. Nozzle in, I smiled sweetly and blasted two cold shots up that side, and quickly pinch my nose and put my head back. Other side. And, head back. Got it. Stuff worked in seconds. Amazing! But, man it was bitter as it slid down the back of my throat. I spit the goo into a tissue and began a coughing fit. I hacked and wheezed like I've been smoking non-filtered Camels my whole life. And it was done. Sweet husband took the dirty laundry downstairs without uttering a word.

I retreated to my den and tidied up. It's then I realized I should have taken stock in Kleenex brand. Wondered out loud if I should recycle them?

I wrapped myself in my red, sparkly blanket and set myself up for hours of channel flipping. There is nothing good on Saturday nights.

I went to bed only a few minutes before Derek. He was downstairs doing the dishes. When I crawled into bed, I could breathe, so I didn't think to check how long the Drixoral was going to last. It lasted up until about 2:30 or 3am. I coughed throughout the night. Knocked over a few things on my nightstand as I blindly reached for kleenex. When the coughing fit was over, I'd sit up and groan. Disoriented, I'd force myself to lay down again... only to repeat the ordeal every half hour or so.

I woke up this morning in a sweat. My fever had broken some time early in the morning. My pillow was wet, but my mouth was dry... the roof of it grainy and my tongue felt like leather. It took me a minute to realize that I had slept with my mouth open all night. THAT must have been delightful - sleeping next to Darth Vader-turned JAWS. I'm surprised Derek didn't pop in some winter-fresh gum and force my mouth closed!

I think it's days like these that my husband must really really love me. He must pull from this deep well of affection to put up with a drippy, red-nosed, green-eyed, orangutan-resembling shell of a wife. Because... there's nothing cute about being sick.

Now excuse my while I sneeze.

Thank you.


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