Tuesday, August 21, 2007
And this time I know it's for real
When I went to bed on Friday night, I knew I was getting sick. I could feel it in the back of my throat, the place where it always starts.
I'm pissed, but I'm not surprised. I've been out-of-my-mind stressed over the last couple of weeks, then just as that stress was ending, I had a night of almost no sleep at all, a night when I needed a full nights sleep more than anything.
Saturday morning I wake up to the same inflamed tonsils that have been plaguing me all year. This will be my 5th struggle with them since February. I expect it to be annoying and painful to swallow, but I imagine that it will be a little like the last few times where I am still functioning, just at a lower capacity. As the day progresses and I find myself having slept most of it on the couch, I realize that this is no wussy bout of tonsilitis. Later I make Karen reaffirm my suspicions that I have a fever. Then I huddle back under my blankets to sleep some more.
I drift back into consciousness and call Spatch to let her know I won't be able to make brunch the next morning. I fall back asleep. The events of the evening come in waves to me. Karen has stayed home with me, and I thank her by sleeping all night. She makes cookies, does some cleaning, occasionally attempts to talk to me. And I just keep sleeping.
Sunday morning I wake up at 6 am. I deliriously make my way to the kitchen, make myself some TheraFlu, pop some Aleve to make the pain bearable and lay down on the couch to spend the rest of the day sleeping again.
I'm not eating. I'm barely drinking. All I want to do is sleep. Later that night when one of our roommates has a guest over, Karen and I retire to my bedroom and she reads to me while I lay on my bed, praying for death. Even later, as I sweat off my fever, my roommates let me open windows and turn on a fan even though they are freezing.
Monday morning, I feel moderately better, but the pain in my throat is still unbearable. I call in sick. I call my doctor and cry my way into an appointment later that afternoon.
After she looks down my throat, she confirms what I already know she is going to tell me.
Its time to take my tonsils out.
I am half-elation and half-dread.
Today's Title from: I Want to Break Free by Queen
I'm pissed, but I'm not surprised. I've been out-of-my-mind stressed over the last couple of weeks, then just as that stress was ending, I had a night of almost no sleep at all, a night when I needed a full nights sleep more than anything.
Saturday morning I wake up to the same inflamed tonsils that have been plaguing me all year. This will be my 5th struggle with them since February. I expect it to be annoying and painful to swallow, but I imagine that it will be a little like the last few times where I am still functioning, just at a lower capacity. As the day progresses and I find myself having slept most of it on the couch, I realize that this is no wussy bout of tonsilitis. Later I make Karen reaffirm my suspicions that I have a fever. Then I huddle back under my blankets to sleep some more.
I drift back into consciousness and call Spatch to let her know I won't be able to make brunch the next morning. I fall back asleep. The events of the evening come in waves to me. Karen has stayed home with me, and I thank her by sleeping all night. She makes cookies, does some cleaning, occasionally attempts to talk to me. And I just keep sleeping.
Sunday morning I wake up at 6 am. I deliriously make my way to the kitchen, make myself some TheraFlu, pop some Aleve to make the pain bearable and lay down on the couch to spend the rest of the day sleeping again.
I'm not eating. I'm barely drinking. All I want to do is sleep. Later that night when one of our roommates has a guest over, Karen and I retire to my bedroom and she reads to me while I lay on my bed, praying for death. Even later, as I sweat off my fever, my roommates let me open windows and turn on a fan even though they are freezing.
Monday morning, I feel moderately better, but the pain in my throat is still unbearable. I call in sick. I call my doctor and cry my way into an appointment later that afternoon.
After she looks down my throat, she confirms what I already know she is going to tell me.
Its time to take my tonsils out.
I am half-elation and half-dread.
Today's Title from: I Want to Break Free by Queen
Labels: tonsils
