...aaaaannndd I'm back!
I'm pale and droopy-eyed and slightly reeling from the shock of brightness that surrounds me after the fevered fog I've been buried in for the last five days.
Oh God, poppets! What a horrible five days it was! I went to work on Friday feeling six shades of despicable, accomplishing nothing but a probable office-wide infection. To speak was to hurt, so I refrained from using my voice. I had a painful, barking cough that started deep in my lungs and left me in bone-searing agony after every uncontrollable heave. A trip to the clinic that night confirmed what I already knew: I had a raging fever of 39.5C, and it was looking to go up. The doctor also confirmed what I didn't know: I had strep throat, and I was contagious.
I spent the next few days alternating between sleep, and unfocused viewings of whatever TLC wanted to give me. Fever up; fever down. Nausea up; nausea down. Hacking, horrible gag-reflex-inducing cough up; and here comes the nausea back again. And then the hives popped up.
Little red bumps, itchy like mosquito bites and frankly, quite gross to look at. I suspect that sometime between now and the last time I took penicillin, I developed an allergy to the stuff, which resulted in sneezing, chills, stuffy nose, more fevers, and the dreaded hives. I took another trip the the clinic yesterday, and one of the nurses there thought that my bumps looked, "rather unusual" and really "not like hives at all" and she wondered if I "have ever had chicken pox at all". Oh, for God's sake! The Pox, now? On top of the strep and the high temp and general feeling of grossness and dying, I've got to have The Pox?
The theory went unexplored and unconfirmed though, as I've had them before and the doctor decided that as there was only a sprinkling of them on my chest and right arm and leg, it was probably just an allergic reaction to the medication. I counted, poppets. Does 32 scarlet, flaming bumps count as a "sprinkling"? Right. I thought so.
Of course, I've become friendly with some of them. Like the formation on my hand I like to call Joey Potter. You know that spot on the back of your hand just by the valley between your thumb and index? You know, where a gang would make you get a particularly lethal looking tattoo that would forever brand you to them? Yes, well, now I'm part of the Joey Potter Crooked Face Gang. I've got seven hives there that have arranged themselves in the form of a face with half a smile. And you know that lop-sided half-smile that Miss Potter has, when she's pleased or flustered or falling in love with someone or showing any emotion at all? You know? That one? Yeah, well, it lives on my hand now, and in the less lucid moments I've had over the last few days, it's talked to me, usually about it's feelings and how deeply it feels it's love for Pacey and Dawson but on, quite obviously, very different levels.
I'm not quite healthy yet, of course.
Many , many thanks to you lovelies who left good wishes in my notes and my guest book. As before, the Anonymous Cyber Coward has put a smile on my face without revealing who he is. I thought I had figured it out, but now I'm not so sure anymore. At any rate, I thank you, too. And if I was a bit healthier, I'd be stamping my feet and demanding to know who you are!
I've a reunion tale to deliver to you, poppets, I know. It's been a week since I've been back, and all you've got are moans and groans. I promise... my next words will be the tell-all.
Enjoy your day, darlings. Don't catch anything.
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