Considering it’s officially Day Five, I’d hardly call this “breaking” news, but the rumors are true: I’m sick. Oh, I don’t believe there are any rumors, just some fever-induced paranoia. The story began just before I went on a fun- (and adventure-) filled roadtrip to Vegas with Tony. My neighbor had had the flu for a few days and I started feeling a little tired. So I spent a day vegging out at home and made it through the Vegas experience unscathed. (Though there was a close-call while we were downtown…why do parades celebrating MLK, one of the most peaceful men in history, have to end with someone shooting a gun?) When I got home last Tuesday afternoon, I felt like I needed a nap, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary after a trip.
Wednesday, I was busying catching up on work and preparing for a podcast recording session for one of my clients when I got a headache that just wouldn’t go away. Sinuses, allergies, I figured. I took a Claritin and went to bed. The next morning, I woke up with a sore throat, stuffy nose and a slight fever. So I cancelled my podcast recording and took the advice of my wise and sage client by getting back in bed and resting, right after taking a few vitamins and antihistamines that usually do the trick. Unfortunately, they didn’t work this time. Friday was worse than Thursday. The only productive thing I got done was a couple of loads of laundry. Then, I slept close to 20 hours in my personal sick celebration of TGIF, still having done very little work all week.
Saturday morning came around and I felt almost human again, still sleepy and tired, but no fever and even my throat felt better. They always say third time’s a charm, so I figured Day Three of the Ick was my lucky day. That’s when I started getting cocky. I ended up doing a bunch of work on the computer (not resting, but not exactly exerting either, I told myself), paying bills and watching movies.
I was sick and tired of being sick and tired and I decided not to take a nap, even when my body told me I needed one. Stubborn. Yes, I am. And I started paying for it, in sweat and tears (just like Debbie Allen lectures in Fame), around 7:30pm. Sweat from another fever coming and going. Tears from trying unsuccessfully to cough up a lung. The fever and coughing continued through the night. It didn’t help that I had watched a weird documentary about William Eggleston before I passed out. I had heard of the famous photographer, but didn’t know much about him or his work. My dreams were filled with his haunting images of the extraordinary ordinary, which I also find myself drawn to when I’m out shooting. I woke up sweaty and cold, having weathered too many photos and fevers.
So Sunday, Day Four, was the day when I finally admitted to myself I have the flu, not just some nasty cold or upper-respiratory infection. The Flu. And judging from some of the nasty things it’s capable of doing, I have a fairly mild case. My fever never got above 101 and thanks to reminders from friends and family (and a patient, loving boyfriend who isn’t sick and will remain that way if I get my way) to drink lots of water, I’m on the mend again. I’m trying not to get cocky like I did before. It’s just boring as hell to sleep all the time, not be able to go anywhere or do anything, waiting for things to get better. I would go see a doctor if I thought it would help. But I don’t.
I’ve probably got another day or two to go, so maybe I should do a little research on patience. Talk about preventative care.
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
brianblevins's journal
