I am sick. Really and truly sick. I even took a sick day and felt no guilt whatsoever that maybe I wasn't sick enough to have a "sick day." Because I am. My 5 year old was sick, too so I took him to the doctor. I refuse to acknowledge that I'm sick because I don't get sick. So with absolute glee, my little boy climbed up onto the table, stuck out his tongue and conversed with the doctor. I heard something about cloudy ears and antibiotics and then I just turned it off.
It hurts when sound reaches my eardrums.
We drove back home, I turned on the television, brought in the dog, and let the babysitting begin. I crawled back into bed and swam somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness. The kids came home from school. I might have acknowledged them. I made chicken noodle soup from scratch. I couldn't even think. My husband caught me in a sway and asked what he could do. I grunted some terse instructions and went back to bed. It was 5:45 p.m. I woke up at 4:00 a.m. I was still sick.
I made a nest on the couch and proceeded to have my 2nd sick day. The 5 year old insisted he have his, too. I remembered I hadn't filled his antibiotic prescription so I let him stay home. We went to Costco to get the prescription filled. And buy Sudafed. They I.D. you when you buy Sudafed and put you into a database. I can't imagine ever being mistaken for a woman with a meth lab in my house. I simply don't have the energy for one more hobby. And I hate Costco when I'm sick. It's so noisy. Then we came home and I tried to crawl back into bed. But he talks. He talks and talks and talks and talks and talks. I love him dearly but he talks. It hurts. I introduce him to Mr. Netbook. He plays Mr. Netbook and then he drops Mr. Netbook. I'm not happy.
I can't sleep and I realize the laundry room is overflowing with dirty clothes. Fine. I wash laundry. I dry laundry. I fold laundry. I put laundry away. I'm winded walking up the stairs. My 13 year old chooses THIS day to request I wash her bedding. She's never asked me to wash it before but she wants me to wash it today. The 15 year old comes home in a panic. Her P.E. teacher discovered she has a flat foot and if she doesn't get arched insoles TODAY, she will snap a tendon and need surgery.
Will you wash my gym clothes tonight?
Will you make me some rice?
Heat up some chocolate milk for me?
There's something on the floor on the carpet and I don't know what it is.
I'm out of lunch money.
You forgot to send the check for my band pictures! (Did not.)
I forgot my pre-algebra book at school. Can you take me back? (uh, no)
Where are the nuts? Where in the pantry? Where on the second shelf?
Didn't anybody get the memo? I'm SICK!
I'm going to resume my delusional persona and go to work tomorrow. Spread my phlegm, aches, and pains with my colleagues. I know they will appreciate it. Who doesn't enjoy a person who can use the word, "phlegm", in conversation. It's just a fascinating word. Not so fascinating for a man with a compromised immune system going through chemo. I'm sorry.
It's too much work to be sick.