But I lost weight. Apparently if you spend four or five days doing nothing but lying in bed and eat nothing in that time but most of a bowl of soup (which you then proceed to throw up), a handful or two of grapes (most of which you throw up), a half-dozen or so forkfuls of rice (choked down only because your spouse is convinced this is more nutritious than milk) and most of a gallon of milk, you lose weight. Your muscles atrophy until you can barely stand in the shower, but you lose weight.
I spent all of Saturday and most of Sunday in bed, mostly dozing. I got up a couple of times to check my e-mail, and a few times more to go to the bathroom. When I made my shaky way down the stairs Sunday evening, thinking I might be strong enough to watch TV, I greeted the living room, "Wow... So this is downstairs..."
I decided that the painkillers the emergency room had given me were practically useless. Sure, they brought the fever down to something manageable. Sure, they eased the pain in my neck and shoulders. But they didn't do a damn thing for my head, and as far as I was concerned, that was the real reason I had gone in. To make matters worse, the headache was so constant, it wouldn't let me get all the way to sleep. I could drop as far as REM sleep, but the pain was so overriding, I couldn't relax into anything deeper, or even hold onto REM sleep for more than about an hour and a half at a time - and that was a night, with no lights, noises, or other distractions. (I'm bad, I confess; I looked forward to Matt going to work Monday morning so I wouldn't wake up every time the floor creaked when he came to check on me.)
So Monday I went back to my regular doctor (with Matt's help) and whined at him. I told him I'd cheerfully kill someone if I thought it would get me eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. My doctor has a pretty good bedside manner - cheerful and sympathetic at the same time. He confessed they still weren't sure exactly what this was - sinus infection or virus or even both. He made me move my neck and decided that meningitis was Right Out. (Didn't we already decide that at the hospital?)
He poked and prodded and took a lot of notes, and then he gave me another prescription for the same painkiller, but this time told me I could take two of them at a time. And another prescription for a sleeping pill. And suggested I buy a laxative.
"I'm not constipated!"
He poked at my abdomen again and watched me wince.
"I haven't eaten anything solid since Friday!"
"Just take it."
Oh, hell, why not; we've already spent like $75 on drugs and special foods for me so far. What the heck. Line 'em up, doc!
Matt's irritated that they still don't know what it is. My opinion? Computers are complicated enough; I'm doing well if I can narrow down the possible problems to two or three after a couple of diagnostics. Of course, I was too miserable to be worried, so Matt was worrying enough for the both of us. He's not especially logical when he's indignant over my well-being. It's cute.
I went home and took my last two Vicodin from the hospital's prescription, and half an hour later was blissfully aware that the headache's intensity had reduced by at least half. If I laid very, very still, I could get as much as three or four minutes without any pain at all. Heaven.
I had to give the MeadeHall a miss on Monday. It was just as well, considering the state of Matt's computer. I tried to sit in for a while, just reading over Matt's shoulder. But Matt reads a little faster than I do at the best of times, and I had a headache and was on drugs, which meant I had to look at each word three times before it made sense. And Matt was bouncing around between two public chat windows, a couple of private conversations, and the webpage he was browsing. I couldn't keep up. So I said goodnight and went to bed.
Monday night I got four hours of sleep at a stretch. That was nice. Then I made the mistake of thinking, "Oh, I'll just skip my 3AM painkillers. I don't want to get up. I'll just wait until 7." Seeing as how I'd made this mistake both previous nights, I don't know how I managed to convince myself I could do that. I managed to doze for about two more hours, then spent the rest of the night waiting for the moment when I could prod Matt's shoulder and ask him to get me something to take my drugs with.
I took no chances. I spent all day Tuesday drugged out of my mind. It felt really, really good. I still didn't want to eat anything, but to make Matt feel better, I had a slice of buttered bread around 5 - 7. (Yes, it took me two hours to eat a single slice of bread. We're not in this for speed records, okay?)
Around 10 or so, I thought I might be just barely on the edges of hungry. I wanted something warm. It took me half an hour to decide if it was worth getting out of bed for, but I eventually clambered down the stairs and reheated the same tomato soup leftovers that had been in the 'fridge since Friday afternoon. (After I skimmed the skin off, of course.)
By the time I'd finished that, it was almost time for the season finale of The Soporanos - what the heck? Violence and betrayal are sure to make a fantastic backdrop for my fever-dreams. (I'd had some great ones, too. I dreamed I was talking on the MeadeHall, only instead of just talking, or typing what I was saying, I said things out loud that turned into text on the screen. I kept forgetting to put the double-colon "action indicator" on my actions, and then I'd have to back up and do them over again. Another time I dreamed I was eating Corn Pops, with very cold milk. The last one I remember, I was sitting in a giant Easter basket eating Silly Sours Jelly Bellies. Matt offered to get me Corn Pops and Jelly Bellies when I told him about those. Poor guy. It was really driving him crazy that I didn't want to eat.)
Toward the end of The Soporanos (and boy, talk about fever dreams!) I realized that I was overdue for my next painkiller, but that I was still feeling... okay. Not great - a little achey around the edges, a little cloudy in the brain - but not miserable. I wondered if the drugs were lasting longer, or if I was actually getting better.
I took only a single painkiller along with the nighttime complement, let Matt settle himself... I fell asleep quickly, and didn't wake up again until 5 AM! Five hours of sleep! Uninterrupted, no weird special-clarity dreams, no waking up when Matt rolled over! Let there be joy and dancing in the streets! And the pain? The single pain-killer should certianly have worn off in that time... But the pain is a dull ache behind my eyes if I stare at something too long or too hard (it's taking me a long time to write this up today) and the band of pressure across my forehead that's not comfortable, but hardly painful.
So, in the interest of hopefully not having to completely abandon my summer plans, I thought I'd try to come in to work. I have a plastic baggie full of Advil to help with the remaining fever and pain, and I think as long as I don't push things too hard, I'll be okay. (I sure hope so. I need to work late to make up some of these hours.)
And just to give credit where credit is due... Many many many thanks go to Matt, who drove me places I didn't want to go, ran errands for me, brought me food I wouldn't eat, and tried very hard to stay out of my way so I could rest. My appreciation, also, to Karen, K.T., and Greg, who wrote e-mail and sent e-get-well-cards, and to Jeff and the other people who called to see how I was doing, even if Matt didn't wake me up so I could talk to any of you.
Oh, and for Braz, who has this uncanny ability to log off his computer less than two minutes after I log on - even if my "logging on" is just walking into the room where Matt's using the computer - Relax, will ya? That's not how you get computer viruses! ;-)
Now, if I can just figure out where I left my appetite...
Word of the Day: substantive - considerable in amount or numbers; creating and defining rights and duties; involving matters of major or practical importance to all concerned
Oh, my brain's too slow for this today. Besides, I know what substantive means. I've even used it in a sentence of my own volition before. What if I just say that I knew you missed me, and wanting to get back to my beloved journal was a substantive part of my recovery? (Okay, how about this, then: I have a substantive pile of drugs at home.)
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