Fun With Fevers
(whispered voice) Hullo all.
(cough, hack, hoiiiik)
Yes, I didn't miss me either.
Actually, I'm fairly positive that those doughty astronauts up on the International Space Station who were testing some sort of infrared telescope had to repair the optics when they mistakenly aimed it at Southern Wisconsin, thinking that it'd be a nice, coolish spot, what with the heat wave having broken and all, only to find a searing spot, roughly human-formed, spelling rude words with her limbs in a fever haze. After the third day of fevers of 103-104, you have to start to use your inner muse to entertain yourself as you really haven't the energy to lift that 2 oz paperback, let alone keep your eyes open to read it.
But! On day...oh, what the hell was it.....what the hell is today, come to ask...anyway, Inferno Day Something-or-other, Marvelous Charles had his way and I started to swallow the damned antibiotics, and, lo and behold, 24 hours later, my fever started to throw all its dirty wash (and it had lots of sick-sweat-soaked stuff, you can be sure) into its bag and started to back out the door with hurried apologies that it had an urgent matter of business that must be attended to. And 12 hours later, nothing remained but the pastiness. Charles claims that this rapid response means that he was right and it was not 'just a virus' after all. I grumbled something about not being able to rule out coincidence and who the hell went to med school, anyway, and please pass the water and my next pill, thank you.
I am also left with the total absence of my voice. And the cough. Oh yes, and the rather unpleasantly pulled back and shoulder from the damn cough. But. Gone are the fevers and I can hug and kiss the children, again, after 5 days.
I can't yell at them, but I can kiss them and that I'll take.
I also find that approximately 3 pounds of me got mistakenly crammed in with Fever's dirty wash, so, there's that for the good! Now all I have to do to lose that last 10 lbs is to continue to eat 400 calories a day and raise my basal metabolic rate to that of a small neutron star and I'll fit into my skinnier jeans.
Yeah. Right.
The kids have been most marvelous. Charles had full parenting responsibilities over the weekend, but sadly had to return to work on Monday, it being first day of school and all and one CAN NOT EVER miss the first week of school if one is an educator. If one has a massive heart attack, it is expected that one will propel oneself through the halls to one's blackboard or office in one's hospital bed and work. After all, you just had 3 months off. You should have planned it better.
The last couple of days have been survival mode. Colin has had the responsibility of making breakfast and lunch for himself and his sister. They have had nothing but peanut butter and honey sandwiches, waffles, cold cereal, milk and carrots with ranch dressing, but they are seeming not to mind it. Hell, for all I know, they are eating nothing but ice-cream and ice-cream and just smearing peanut butter on the counters, but what I don't know won't hurt me. Charles makes them a healthy dinner, so I think we're not likely to see advanced scurvy and I've sent them outdoors each day it's not been storming, so they won't get the rickets. Pellagra is possible but I think they had some meat a few times at dinner, so we should be OK there, too. The trip to the dentist, tomorrow, will sort the rest out.
And so, I leave you with my heartfelt apologies for failing to visit youse alls. It's common for me to not post for a week, but I feel badly if I don't see my friends for more than a couple of days without mentioning that I'll be off to Monte Carlo as the Crown Prince needs my advice on a 'little matter.' (Does Monaco have a Crown Prince? They have a Prince, but a Crown Prince? Is Rainier still alive? Clearly no one in Monaco will even be asking my advice on toilet tissue now. Blew that.) I especially apologize to Rotten Correspondent who knows me but a short time and blogged me such nice birthday somethings that I have inadvertently ignored in my ague. 1000 apologies, Rotten.
Oh. And one more thing. Apparently, when you have NO voice what-so-ever aside from one's inadequate whisper, one's dog will stab you in the back and, while you have shuffled off to the bathroom, will eat the last piece of chicken that you left on the table, which was the ONLY thing in the house you felt that you could fathom putting in your mush, masticating and swallowing. When you come shuffling back from the bathroom, shaking with rigors, you will soon be shaking with rage and screaming in whispers (which are not at all intimidating). You will hustle said traitor and man's worst friend into her crate to rot until you are sure that upon letting her out you will not messily murder her. It's not at all the murder that you mind, but the mess, as you haven't the strength to clean it all up, what with all the damn chicken grease that's smeared on the floor, by the plate. I add that she has never done such a thing in her almost 2 years with us. Coincidence? Don't make me laugh.
And! I also have an inkling of what religious fanaticism feels like to a zealot as I stood in my poor kitchen, still shaking, sweaty and weak; wielding the wand of the vacuum, I systematically summoned 22 houseflies to their doom. It takes a steady eye and hand and I had neither, but what I did have was the grim, steely certainty that right was on my side and that I would not fail. In short, I found the strength of 10 Dianas plus 2 and didn't collapse on the couch until I had gotten each one I could find. They apparently thought they could stage a coup d'etat on my kitchen. Not while I still have a limb to command, fuckers. Now I just need to figure out if the damn dog intentionally or accidentally leaked the news of my illness to the king of the flies, and deal with her.
So there you have my trials and goo. I missed you all and will make the rounds slowly. Rest assured, though, I will be reading all you have written. Late to the party, but making amends and covering my mouth. Tissue, anyone?
(cough, hack, hoiiiik)
Yes, I didn't miss me either.
Actually, I'm fairly positive that those doughty astronauts up on the International Space Station who were testing some sort of infrared telescope had to repair the optics when they mistakenly aimed it at Southern Wisconsin, thinking that it'd be a nice, coolish spot, what with the heat wave having broken and all, only to find a searing spot, roughly human-formed, spelling rude words with her limbs in a fever haze. After the third day of fevers of 103-104, you have to start to use your inner muse to entertain yourself as you really haven't the energy to lift that 2 oz paperback, let alone keep your eyes open to read it.
But! On day...oh, what the hell was it.....what the hell is today, come to ask...anyway, Inferno Day Something-or-other, Marvelous Charles had his way and I started to swallow the damned antibiotics, and, lo and behold, 24 hours later, my fever started to throw all its dirty wash (and it had lots of sick-sweat-soaked stuff, you can be sure) into its bag and started to back out the door with hurried apologies that it had an urgent matter of business that must be attended to. And 12 hours later, nothing remained but the pastiness. Charles claims that this rapid response means that he was right and it was not 'just a virus' after all. I grumbled something about not being able to rule out coincidence and who the hell went to med school, anyway, and please pass the water and my next pill, thank you.
I am also left with the total absence of my voice. And the cough. Oh yes, and the rather unpleasantly pulled back and shoulder from the damn cough. But. Gone are the fevers and I can hug and kiss the children, again, after 5 days.
I can't yell at them, but I can kiss them and that I'll take.
I also find that approximately 3 pounds of me got mistakenly crammed in with Fever's dirty wash, so, there's that for the good! Now all I have to do to lose that last 10 lbs is to continue to eat 400 calories a day and raise my basal metabolic rate to that of a small neutron star and I'll fit into my skinnier jeans.
Yeah. Right.
The kids have been most marvelous. Charles had full parenting responsibilities over the weekend, but sadly had to return to work on Monday, it being first day of school and all and one CAN NOT EVER miss the first week of school if one is an educator. If one has a massive heart attack, it is expected that one will propel oneself through the halls to one's blackboard or office in one's hospital bed and work. After all, you just had 3 months off. You should have planned it better.
The last couple of days have been survival mode. Colin has had the responsibility of making breakfast and lunch for himself and his sister. They have had nothing but peanut butter and honey sandwiches, waffles, cold cereal, milk and carrots with ranch dressing, but they are seeming not to mind it. Hell, for all I know, they are eating nothing but ice-cream and ice-cream and just smearing peanut butter on the counters, but what I don't know won't hurt me. Charles makes them a healthy dinner, so I think we're not likely to see advanced scurvy and I've sent them outdoors each day it's not been storming, so they won't get the rickets. Pellagra is possible but I think they had some meat a few times at dinner, so we should be OK there, too. The trip to the dentist, tomorrow, will sort the rest out.
And so, I leave you with my heartfelt apologies for failing to visit youse alls. It's common for me to not post for a week, but I feel badly if I don't see my friends for more than a couple of days without mentioning that I'll be off to Monte Carlo as the Crown Prince needs my advice on a 'little matter.' (Does Monaco have a Crown Prince? They have a Prince, but a Crown Prince? Is Rainier still alive? Clearly no one in Monaco will even be asking my advice on toilet tissue now. Blew that.) I especially apologize to Rotten Correspondent who knows me but a short time and blogged me such nice birthday somethings that I have inadvertently ignored in my ague. 1000 apologies, Rotten.
Oh. And one more thing. Apparently, when you have NO voice what-so-ever aside from one's inadequate whisper, one's dog will stab you in the back and, while you have shuffled off to the bathroom, will eat the last piece of chicken that you left on the table, which was the ONLY thing in the house you felt that you could fathom putting in your mush, masticating and swallowing. When you come shuffling back from the bathroom, shaking with rigors, you will soon be shaking with rage and screaming in whispers (which are not at all intimidating). You will hustle said traitor and man's worst friend into her crate to rot until you are sure that upon letting her out you will not messily murder her. It's not at all the murder that you mind, but the mess, as you haven't the strength to clean it all up, what with all the damn chicken grease that's smeared on the floor, by the plate. I add that she has never done such a thing in her almost 2 years with us. Coincidence? Don't make me laugh.
And! I also have an inkling of what religious fanaticism feels like to a zealot as I stood in my poor kitchen, still shaking, sweaty and weak; wielding the wand of the vacuum, I systematically summoned 22 houseflies to their doom. It takes a steady eye and hand and I had neither, but what I did have was the grim, steely certainty that right was on my side and that I would not fail. In short, I found the strength of 10 Dianas plus 2 and didn't collapse on the couch until I had gotten each one I could find. They apparently thought they could stage a coup d'etat on my kitchen. Not while I still have a limb to command, fuckers. Now I just need to figure out if the damn dog intentionally or accidentally leaked the news of my illness to the king of the flies, and deal with her.
So there you have my trials and goo. I missed you all and will make the rounds slowly. Rest assured, though, I will be reading all you have written. Late to the party, but making amends and covering my mouth. Tissue, anyone?
Labels: Whining to a Captive Audience
posted by Diana at 7:12 PM
22 Comments:
Wow, you and I could have had so much fun together this weekend! What with my fever, chills, and unmentionable GI yuckies, and your rigors and hacks....Fun, FUN days it could have been! (But HA! I was fever free and working by Tuesday, feeling rather crappy but still able to lift a stethoscope and pen when necessary, so you win! Congrats!) Glad you're feeling better, working in healthcare is definitely bad for your health!
Ding! You have an early email from S. Claus of North Pole, Earth...
MG
Wow. A really happy after birthday, huh? Glad you are feeling better. And I hope those germs don't make their way to my house. I better not check in from home until we are sure they have all left your house. :-)
Woman, you kill me. Seriously. I do not know how you can make anything sound so funny. Seriously, I'm trying not to laugh because Poor Diana and then I started giggling. Giggling! Over your illness. I blame you for turning me into a callous person, laughing at your misfortune.
Anyway, glad you feel better.
Good heavens, I'mnot sure whether I should be laughing with your or cringing in empathetic pain. I'm glad you're on the mend. And you're right. The kids probably won't get the rickets.
Oh, my, I just assumed you were busy with the back-to-school madness.
So sorry you were so violently ill and even sorrier for laughing at your misfortune. I'm glad you wrestled those nasty germs to the ground and are (almost) back to normal.
I think this is all just a big hoax because you didn't want to get together with us over the weekend... ;)
I'm glad you're feeling somewhat better. Next weekend works well for us, so I am excited about seeing you and Charles and the kids. Have you ever been to Olbrich Gardens? It's over on the East Side, but if you come to our house early-ish, then we could go over there. It's really pretty, though I don't know if the kids would love it.
Hugs. Hope you feel better. I would make you some chicken soup, if you wanted. :)
Sorry to hear you've been to hell and back.
Glad to hear you're on the mend now.
You must be better because it was a very funny post. Dog eating your chicken - that would have enraged me!
You certainly do not need to apologize to me. I am so sorry you've been so miserable, but the fact that you've made it all sound pee your pants funny indicates that you're on the mend. I hope so anyway.
This is another facet of the whole blogging thing that just floors me, you know? Every time I checked your blog for a new post I kept thinking boy, I hope nothing is wrong. And I worried over it. When did all of us Blog Buddies become so important to each other?
Do you know what the most hysterical bit was? I was reading this post and kept hearing you non-furiously whisper-hollering (which is something only you would manage) "But every time I sprinkle Molly she fucking pees!". It just makes me lose the plot every single time, you sounded so emphatic for someone with nary a vocal chord!
I'm so glad to see you posting, thank God the fever didn't erase your funny centre. I KNEW something was wrong. See, I know YOU as well - ha!
[Yes, Diana's Dad, she has a mouth like a lorry driver. Sorry abt that, I'm certain you raised her to be a lady - but there you go.]
Christie- Oh, NO!!! I maintain that there is nothing worse than nausea and its evil accomplice, vomiting. I would rather have had a month (well, a good 3 weeks, certainly) of what I had than a day with my head in the toilet. At least you can keep down the variably helpful drugs with what I had. (I think we would have fun together doing pretty much anything, you know, but let's steer toward that light little CME conference someplace.)
Morris- Ding, back. Finally got all my e-mails answered.
Lauren- Yes. A very happy birthday. At least it had the decency to wait to really hit until the day after. As a precaution, I'll continue to wear a mask for a few more days. :-}
Dana- Thank goodness!!! I was worried the damn tale would come across as yet another 'poor me', which this blog has more than enough of. Please, laugh away. You know that's what I live for. (And turn about's fair, yes, my Queen?)
Jen- Laugh. If ever in doubt on this blog, the correct answer is always "laugh", unless it's "laugh very loudly" or "laugh very hard". Bonus points if you both laugh and cringe at me. It's my default state of mind.
Listie- Sadly, our frenzied back-to-school madness was brought to a screaching halt. We (I) had all sorts of plans for Friday-Wednesday and the only thing that did happen was that Charles and Colin (without me) went in to Colin's meet the teacher thingy. I have no idea what his teacher is really like.
Ariella- Oh yes. Because I always prefer to not do the things I really, really want to do. That and throw out a couple of pounds of rotting tomatoes that were slated to have been our pasta sauce. Olbrich Gardens!!! It's a date, baby. The kids can go jump in a lake.
Dumdad- I am bouncing back from hell, as you say, with growing vim and vigo(u)r. Damn dog is officially now living on borrowed time.
Rotten- Isn't it terribly strange and odd and wonderful? And you all are so very important in my life, obviously. No one who either doesn't blog or at least doesn't blog by proxy (like Charles, who reads all this shite that is my blog and knows you all, yes he does) can't possibly get it. Until I started (and it took about 2 years from when I started reading to jump in myself because it all seemed so twisted) I had no idea, myself. Such a fabulous little neighborhood we are!
Johnny- Dahling. I still am floored that you could understand a word I said. (And, yes, my eyeballs were bulging and my face was dark puce as I 'hollered' the dark tale to you. Charles and I are planning to set a trap for her as a lesson. Oh, yes. Probably this weekend. It may involve your suggestion of squirt guns or something even more noxious. Perfume? Crashingly loud noise? Piano falling from the ceiling? No. That'd hurt the beloved floors. Yes. You know me. Damn. No escape.
I am so glad to hear you're on the mend. I tried not to laugh, but you made me! As usual.
V.
lol--- I am no one to talk when it comes to disappearing from a blog...uuhhh hiatus for months here :)
I am however very glad your ok and most importantly I was no where near you to catch it :)
Poor thing. Hang in there.
I don't think Monaco has a Crown Prince as Albert doesn't have any legitimate heirs. His sister Caroline is next in line to the throne now.
Voyager- Nothing like feeling like stewed crap to make feeling better so very good.
Mojavi- You might want to disinfect that computer screen and keyboard...
Cagey- Ah. Crown Princess Caroline. So close. (Prince Albert in a can?)
Sounds very horrible and miserable, and right after your birthday, too! I certainly hope you got your fair share of that cake before you were felled by disease!
So were you able to write yourself a prescription after Charles diagnosed you?
Glad you're feeling better!
"Not while I still have a limb to command, fuckers."
I chortled through your post--em, not because you've been sick but, er, in spite of it--but that line just slayed me.
It shows your mettle.
No fly, no fever, will break you.
Aw, man.that's pure yuckiness at its best! What's up with that this time of year? You're the 3rd person I've heard who has been ravaged with a bug other than mosquitoes!
Hope all is well by now and you are well back to normal life...uh...well life as you know it anyway!
Oh the yuckiness!!! So sorry you've been poorly. I can't hear/read "Prince Albert" without thinking horrific piercings
(do yourself a favor and don't go to wikipedia.... disturbingly graphic photos...) So I was really in sort of a different and unintended place here. At least through the comments.
Rozanne- Not the birthday present I wished for, that's for certain. And, NO!! I don't get to write my own Rxs. Very much frowned upon, let me tell you. Even writing for family members who share your surname is not a good idea.
Jocelyn- It's nice to know that I have 'mettle'. You can go far with only mettle.
Ruth- I wouldn't put it past the damn mosquitoes to be injecting us with some sort of vile illness, I mean in addition to West Nile and Malaria and all that.
Teri- Well, you did warn me and of course I had to go investigate what a Prince Albert piercing was. I've seen several 'in the flesh', so to speak (yes, yes in the professional execution of my duties). They just seem so terribly painful...I'm just so not into pain.
I don't know how you do it, but even when you're sick you're brilliant. I'm glad the fever has subsided and hope that you'll be back to the strength of 10 Dianas plus 2 soon.
(Dogs are tricky. They wait for the opportune moment to do devilish deeds.)
I can't believe you went and looked! After I warned You! (okay, i'm done pretending to be surprised...) Serously, though? Ewwwwwwwww!!! I had a friend, ages ago, who was into piercing things, and he was thinking of doing that... and, obviously, shared his thoughts with me. I was reasonably certain that he had lost his mind....
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