09 February, 2009

Sick.



Bloody typical. Here I am off on holiday and I find myself struck down with the lurgy.

It started innocently enough. A bit of a runny nose on Wednesday, sore throat on Thursday, swollen glands and continued sore throat on Friday, runny nose, sore throat and headache on Saturday, cough and general malaise on Saturday night to DETH by snot accompanied by a dry, sore persistent cough on Sunday morning.

I made an emergency 'cereal, milk and Sunday papers' call to a friend in the morning. She arrived within the hour and had thoughtfully included a packet of chocolate biscuits to the order which she thrust towards me at arms length. "You look terrible," she muttered as she ran towards her car.

I spent the morning alternating between shivering and sweating, blowing my nose and moaning softly with self pity. Later in the day I called a doctor friend and threw myself on her mercy. "You sound terrible," she said. "My daughter is upstairs in bed with the same thing. She's like death." She came with antibiotics* and delivered them with the same arms length approach. "It'll be about a week!" she called cheerily over her shoulder as I wobbled back towards the settee.

I think I've given off enough heat in the last 24 hours to power a small village. I've had litres of water from my little Tupperware drinking bottle. I've had more Paracetamol than I should have and the pain in my ears is driving me insane. I'm staying away from members of the public due to a) my infectious status b) my general patheticness and c) I'm breathing through my mouth and it makes me look stoopid.

I don't mind being sick. That's not to say that I like it but I recognise that illness is par for the course. What I do mind is being sick when I'm off on annual leave and particularly because my cousin and her husband are here from the UK and I'm stuck here filling up tissues and coughing like a consumptive.

I wasn't sick much when I was a kid but I have fond memories of being looked after. Clean sheets, boiled lemonade, jelly and evaporated milk and a cool hand on my brow. Fast forward 30 years and I'm putting my own sheets in the washing machine and have no one to boil my lemonade or make my favourite food. Bummer.

Oh well. I've got some chocolate biscuits and four Doctor Who box sets. I'm going to bed in clean sheets and I've got those nice tissues with aloe vera and eucalyptus in them. Things could be a lot worse. And I've taken the liberty of using this bout of lurgy to post gratuitous pictures of my favourite doctors. I'm sure they will assist with my recovery. I can dream, can't I?

*yes, I know, I shouldn't really be taking antibiotics but I want to get well as soon as possible and I haven't taken them for absolutely years. There. I've rationalised it all quite nicely.

7 comments:

HH said...

Hope you feel better soon SSS. Four seasons of Doctor Who sounds pretty good to me though, and at least the heat is gone for now. Look after yourself.

KAZ said...

Oops - I was a bit distracted by those wonderful pictures....now what were you saying?
Oh yes - I do hope you feel better soon (pushes back button before she catches anything) :0)
XX

Foodycat said...

You know what they say - with antibiotics it'll take 7 days, without them it'll be a week!

I think there is a business opportunity here - for an annual subscription you could get a full mothering service for 4 colds or 2 flus. Pillows fluffed, books fetched from the library, hot ribena and vegemite toast every 4 hours.

HH said...

Oh I don't think the pics were up when I read yesterday. Mmm yes... I think I need a Doctor too.

NiC said...

Luckily I have a wireless keyboard so can type this from the other side of the room....

Hope you feel better soon.

Enjoy the Doctor.

SSS said...

Thank you all for your good wishes.

I watched 3 episodes of DW today, I'd forgotten how scary 'Blink' was.

mscrankypants said...

What a shit-awful lurgy, SSS. Fingers crossed you're better soon xxx.

I like Foodycat's suggestion of a full mothering service but with blackberry jam on my toast.