It felt like I had been hit by a truck. I woke up yesterday morning with a mildly sore throat, and I downed an Airborne hoping that it would go away. By 11am I felt like death...after being hit by that truck. I had the works: chills, headache, so many aches, etc. While I have been sick many times before -- I work at an elementary school, after all -- I had no memory of anything hitting me so suddenly or intensely. I wanted to turn off my lights, crawl under my desk, and disappear.
By the time I got home I had a raging fever, crawled onto the couch and tossed and turned for a good long while before I got the not-so-bright idea to take a bath to warm up. I vaguely remember Jamie coming home and speaking a whole lot of words to me. I definitely remember waking up various times with all of the blankets in our house on top of me. That's pretty much it.
I woke up for good around 10am this morning -- I had emailed my request for sick leave around 5am -- and felt that my fever was starting to break. I'm back down to 99 and my body doesn't feel like it hates me anymore. When Jamie called to check in with me this morning, he told me that last night I was complaining about the "sandy pancakes" (what was actually chicken soup) that he was feeding me and that I thought I was on the beach. Just thinking about happier times, I guess...
Next time, I might request that Jamie videotape me when I go into my crazy, fever-induced ramblings. Or maybe not.
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