Inauguration Day

Today is my dad’s 70th birthday. It’s also inauguration day for our new president and defeater of former president Donald Trump, Joseph Robinette Biden / VP Kamala Harris. I sent the old man 2 shirts and apologized in advance for no card in the mail. I’m sure he’s having a worse day than me.

I’ve been sick for pretty much the entire holiday season this year, and then some. It began with leaving work early on the 23rd “not feeling right” (shaky, nervous, thought I had low blood sugar…?), and having an emotional meltdown on the phone with Ivy about how I’m “not feeling right”, and all the historical garbage that brings with it. I spent Xmas eve and day alone at home out of (a) not feeling right (b) precaution for the health of my loved ones (c) a forecast that didn’t bode well for travel. I managed to pull it together long enough to see my folks on the 26th, but it was too much too soon and I came back home to – I assumed – go lay down and finish being sick. I went home and had a watered-down version of last year’s sick. I hypothesized that I am defenseless against some kind of bacteria that is prevalent in the environment at this time of year because my annual bout of poor health is so predictable. OK, I can accept that. I’ll adjust my expectations from now on.

After 3 days of being sick and struggling to maintain a rather questionable level of household sanitation, I scraped myself up and washed my smelly body, and then I waltzed right past all the mess to go celebrate my birthday with Ivy. Might as well try and salvage something of the holidays, right? The following days had me thinking I was on the mend. I went back to work, and I stayed late in a gesture to compensate for the time I’d missed. I started cleaning up my house and I caught up with friends and family that I’d missed. The new year arrived without incident and I thought I was fine.

Then I had a bizarre concurrence of odd symptoms. I realized that my left ear had suddenly filled up with lots of swishy swooshy liquid that refuses to drain even still. No pain, and I can even feel it moving from a Qtip (yeah, yeah, I know, ur not sposta do that, blah, blah, phooey) The following day I awoke with a sty on my left eye. I shrugged it off, whatever. 

On Sunday night the 10th I started feeling sick again, which turned into a 9 day involuntary fast. I couldn’t keep anything down, including my meds. I was sweating buckets at night in bed and waking up chilled. Wednesday I went to an after-hours clinic and tested negative for COVID. They took a urine sample, but couldn’t get a vein in either arm for an IV. They gave me a shot for my nausea. They said I was dehydrated and showing signs of starvation, and that I should consider going to the hospital if I didn’t get better by the following day. The following day I tolerated some chicken broth. There, I’m ok, I don’t need to go to the hospital. I managed to start getting plenty of water down, too. I found I could sneak a bit of cracker in here and there. A quarter cup of rice and Chinese vegetables. My body was resisting, but I wanted to push through. A little time and patience. I was really trying. I kind of detached from my physical body to get a turkey sandwich down, trying not to focus on the smell or the texture or the act of chewing and just get it down before my body had a chance to reject it. But that was as far as I got. After that, food had taken on new dimension. Well, not new, just a new high score.

[It was as if food, or even eating for that matter, became unnatural to me. Like a man getting pregnant, or those unfortunate folks who are driven to eat inedible substances. I felt like Seven of Nine. Ivy sees nachos, and I see a pile of fabric scraps covered in barbecue sauce. This new take on food and eating first appeared sometime about a year ago when I was trying acupuncture. I had dropped a lot of weight the year prior and dealing with what was already a well-established appetite problem.]

I had a dream. I saw the face of one of my guides for the first time. She asked me if I needed help. I was clearly disoriented and having all kinds of problems that I  found myself trying to explain away when I finally just gave up and said, well, yeah, I guess I do…  Then I woke up. I talked with Dr. A and she helped me come up with a plan. I called Angelina Hawk and had her take me to the doctor, they said it was likely viral. Then she took me to the pharmacy for my nausea meds and my  Mirtazapine, which I had been lacking for a week but was too sick to pick it up. Who knew it was going to be this bad for this long!?! I went home, took my medicine, and went to bed.

The following day I was so weak I could scarcely move. I decided to give up on trying to figure this out and just go straight to the top. After she finished work, Angelina Hawk delivered me to the emergency department and told me she loved me. They gave me a gurney in the midst of the chaos to lie down and cry with my mask over my face and my sleeve over my eyes. They took blood and urine, and administered fluids and meds. Four hours later Fergie agreed to come pick me up without hesitation and without notice. I called him my knight in shining armor and slipped him a 20 before I went inside to bed.

Today I woke up feeling refreshed and optimistic. I sipped some ginger ale and composed a list of grocery items that I thought sounded appealing. I ended up feasting on fresh raspberries and white garlic and mushroom pizza, as if eating were never easier. Then I sat down to write this. It’s been too long now so ttfn.

 

over-and-out