The eclipse, last night. Not technically a great photo, but check out the cool red colors
as the moon is almost completely in shadow.
I have the stomach flu. I wasn't feeling well all last evening - I felt like there was a heavy brick with sharp edges stuck just below my ribcage. As I stood and watched the eclipse, I thought, "Wow, this is really cool! Wow, I sure don't feel good!" Around 2 a.m. it hit. You know the feeling. Something wakes you up from a deep sleep, some primal knowledge that screams "GET UP! RUN TO THE BATHROOM! I'M NOT SURE WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN, BUT IT IS NOT GOOD. GO. GO. GO!" I was speeding as fast as I could, across my attic bedroom, down the stairs, around the corner . . . and yes, it was not good.
So I've been home from work all day today, camped out on the couch with my phone, blackberry, and remotes within reach, just like during a herx. I ache all over, I can't get warm, and I'm in the bathroom A LOT. But I find something strangely comforting in having a "normal" illness. It has shape and form. You know what to expect. How long it'll probably last. Other people understand. "I have the flu," I told my coworkers, via e-mail, and I could almost see them tilting their heads to the side sympathetically, while thinking, "good grief, I hope she didn't give it to me."
Unlike Lyme, there are no hidden surprises. Half of your hair doesn't suddenly fall out. A strange, welty rash doesn't take over your body one day. You don't see double or hallucinate that glowing cat eyeballs are in your pillowcase. It's kind of . . . nice. To feel something other than herx symptoms. To forget about Lyme for a day and have the flu. It's demented, right? I am a dark twisted individual. I can't believe you're still reading this.
But I'm telling you: one day is enough. I want to feel better tomorrow. I'm off to attempt to eat some plain pasta - the first bite I've eaten for 24 hours. Then I'll watch Lost, and go to bed.
So I've been home from work all day today, camped out on the couch with my phone, blackberry, and remotes within reach, just like during a herx. I ache all over, I can't get warm, and I'm in the bathroom A LOT. But I find something strangely comforting in having a "normal" illness. It has shape and form. You know what to expect. How long it'll probably last. Other people understand. "I have the flu," I told my coworkers, via e-mail, and I could almost see them tilting their heads to the side sympathetically, while thinking, "good grief, I hope she didn't give it to me."
Unlike Lyme, there are no hidden surprises. Half of your hair doesn't suddenly fall out. A strange, welty rash doesn't take over your body one day. You don't see double or hallucinate that glowing cat eyeballs are in your pillowcase. It's kind of . . . nice. To feel something other than herx symptoms. To forget about Lyme for a day and have the flu. It's demented, right? I am a dark twisted individual. I can't believe you're still reading this.
But I'm telling you: one day is enough. I want to feel better tomorrow. I'm off to attempt to eat some plain pasta - the first bite I've eaten for 24 hours. Then I'll watch Lost, and go to bed.
3 comments:
Eewww!!! Ick! I hope you ARE feeling better. Maybe another day settled in front of the TV with blankets and pillows and creatures around you will be as medicinal as clear liquids. Have a restful weekend if you can. And call me when you want me and Emi to invade :) Rosanne
of course i'm still reading - i love how you tie humor in with (sometimes sad) reality, esp. with a topic such as the FLU! i MUST find you the dane cook standup bit about throwing up...it's hysterical. and LOST was something else, wasn't it, again?
Early on in this journey with Lyme I'd actually feel better when I was sick. The higher the fever, the better my symptoms. So I looked forward to getting a cold or virus. But then something shifted and a fever wasn't a good thing anymore. That bummed me out because I was nearly (irrationally) convinced that if I could just catch the flu and get a high enough fever that I might burn off some spirochete. Hence the purchase of a portable FAR infrared spa thingie--which didn't do diddly for my symptoms. Oh well. As a Lymie, I often grasp at straws with my hopes.
I haven't had the flu in ages. I've been really lucky.
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