Groundhog Day = Influenza

January 19, 2013 at 1:55 am (Uncategorized)

My chocolate stash has gone neglected for five days. That’s right: I have the flu.

My doctor confirmed it — from the safe distance of her clinic while I sputtered into my phone — and so she must be right, without need for a blood or urine test to prove it.

Yes, I had a flu shot. Well then, she said, you must be one of the 40 percent who get a strain of the flu not covered by the cocktail in the shot.

Are you drinking a lot of liquids? Yup.

You can gargle with salt in water to relieve sore throat symptoms. Check. (I never do that; but they always give that advice from the 1800s anyway. So desperate to feel better last night was I, that I even took the homeopathic-remedy advice from one of Dave’s Indian colleagues: A tsp. of turmeric dissolved in hot water. I’m CERTAIN that remedy is terrific, however, I only got through half the admixture before I nearly gagged it back up. TMI, sorry.)

Anyway, I’d called my doc’s office to make sure I didn’t have spinal meningitis. I’m not kidding. My neck had never been so painful even in the aftermath of the three rear-enders I’ve been in. I also could feel every vertebrae. And, I could feel every bone in my rib cage — without touching them. They were just there, pulsating beneath my skin’s surface.

The doctor — without laughing, and I thanked her for that — talked me off the meningitis cliff; I didn’t have it, since I didn’t have a body rash to match. Still, I was glad I asked. And it gave me another person to whom I could complain about my aches. She was thrilled to have fielded my call.

This flu has felt like Groundhog Day — the movie, not the day in February that only comes once a year (thanks, Phil) — in that every painful day of this bug has been exactly like the snot-filled day before.

In other news, I know I’ve neglected updating my one reader about our remodel’s progress. Indeed, we moved in before Turkey Day and hosted Thanksgiving dinner, as well as 2nd-Night-Thanksgiving-Shabbat-Dinner, which has been a Knudsen family tradition since the time Dave and I lived out of state and invited all the other displaced persons over to our apartment for turkey. We once called it Orphan Thanksgiving, but the title’s since morphed.

So while our kitchen was fine-tuned and ready to go for Thanksgiving, our master bedroom was not. Read: The movers had yet to schlep our bed from our cave in the basement up two flights of stairs and into our bedroom. But it didn’t matter; having our sleeping space hidden away on Thanksgiving was a bit like when folks shove their dirty laundry behind closed doors to give the impression of a white-glove clean household. No one saw that our remodel wasn’t ENTIRELY complete.

Fast-forward through Hanukkah, Christmas, New Year’s, and, now, Martin Luther King, Jr. weekend. Our bedroom is still in the den. Actually, MY bedroom now is still in the den. As my fever came on earlier this week and my cough reared its hacking head, Dave took off for our actual bedroom, deigning to sleep on the sub-par mattress we’ve had in the room as a place holder. I don’t blame him one bit for his Heisman move up the stairs; all it took was my announcement of a 102-degree F fever, and off he ran. I’d have done the same thing.

So, I’ve been staying in a cesspool of a room, germ-inating it more by the day, while Dave, in his clean lair upstairs, has staved off the ick. Hats off to him and Kleenex down.

However, Alyssa now is The Ick’s latest victim, poor poopsie. Cough, fever, chills, aches… oy va voy.

Now that I’m on the mend (I can feel it! I even made a nice pot of soup this afternoon), I can take care of Alyssa — and Hayley, too — without having to rely for every last thing on Mr.-French-Toast-for-Dinner-and-Pancakes-for-Breakfast. (Not that there was anything wrong with his menu choices. Just sayin’.)

IF Dave lets me back into the real master bedroom, I’ll take with me one sweet piece of nostalgia from this really awful bout of the flu. You know how ‘they’ say animals have a sense about people who are ailing? Well, not one night of the past week did I spend alone. Rather, Jacky (the dog) and Sunshine (the big cat) literally snuggled (suffocated?) me all night long, every night, and every day, too. Today, now that I’ve been up and about (a little bit), the pets have dispersed and are back to their aimless wandering about the house, which is work they break up every once in a while by what appear to be desperately needed naps.

In the mean time, Dave has resumed doing the post-remodel touch-up painting. That means that soon we’ll put the carpet runner back on the stairs (no more slip-sliding and falling up and down them for Hayley and Alyssa…sorry about that, girls), and all the baseboards and cabinet colors will match.

In all seriousness, I owe a huge debt of gratitude to the friends and family who called and brought food; to my parents who picked up the girls from school all week long; to the girls for being so concerned about my health that Alyssa even articulated at one point (through tears), “I’m not used to you being sick, and I don’t like it!”; and to Dave who kept the laundry, kids, pets, and even his own job going throughout the week of my uselessness.

Do I feel my fever coming back on?

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