Earlier this year I came down with a case of the crud and a horrible cough and it turned out to be Pneumonia and, as Pneumonia does, it knocked me on my ass for a couple of weeks. It was around my birthday and I hemmed and hawed and pouted because I couldn’t really DO anything. And I couldn’t go on long walks, or keep up my exercise routine, or ride my really pretty shiny new bicycle.
I took the cough syrup with the heavy-duty drugs in it even though it gave me hellish nightmares and rendered me totally useless. Because it stopped the horrible rib aching bone rattling cough. And I took the complete course of antibiotics prescribed by my awesome doctor who managed to squeeze my appointment in on a super busy day at the end of her lunch break.
And I drank a lot of water. And I slept a ton. And I worried my daughter and boyfriend. And probably really annoyed them too because wow am I a giant baby when I’m sick.
But I was patient. I followed all of the instructions my doctor gave me. And I rested for WEEKS! And even when I was able to go back to work I took it easy because I really wanted to make sure I was healthy when I took my kiddo on that surprise birthday trip.
And I WAS healthy enough to take her on that trip. And for 4 days and 3 nights we traveled and tromped and were amused endlessly. But that amusement involved both amusement parks and airplanes. Both of which are notorious germ factories. I’d say they’re worse than pre-schools. And there I was. Touching doors and rails and rides. Eating less than healthful food. Sleeping in a hotel bed. Sitting in that recycled airplane air.
And so after we got back from her surprise birthday trip I got sick again. And I was like
THIS IS TOTALLY JUST A COLD AND NOT A BIG DEAL. I’LL BE FINE.
Until I had to go back to the doctor and it turns out I have a horrible sinus infection and cruddy lungs and an awful cough and I can’t get enough air and I am so tired and I hate being sick. And I totally needed antibiotics. Again. And I almost never have to take antibiotics so twice in one year seems insane. Twice in a month is even more insane. But I needed them so that happened.
And roughly 24 hours after I started my most recent course of antibiotics I, expectedly, turned a corner. The coughing slowed. I had energy, I could stand for more than 2 minutes without wanting to climb back into bed to sleep for a year. And so I did what anyone would do.
I refilled the soap dispenser at the kitchen sink because it was empty.
And I think that would have been fine. Except then somehow I unloaded the dishwasher, loaded the dishwasher, scrubbed the sink and counters, put a load of wash in the dryer, put another load of wash in the washer, started roasting some seasoned pecans, made my kid dinner, cleaned the dining table, and just as I was getting ready to wash some pots and pans I started coughing.
And then I coughed some more.
And then I almost fell over from coughing. So I stopped doing the things and the stuff.
Which means that right now I’m lying on the couch typing this post and thinking I should probably pop bubbles on that mindless iPad game I like instead of washing those pots and pans, hard boiling eggs for the week, taking a shower, folding a couple of loads of laundry, feeding the cats, and doing all the other stupid stuff I might do if I stand back up again.
But I’ll still need to get those pecans out of the oven…