FLATTENED

Ever since I got back from New York I've been feeling a little fatigued. I thought it was just a looooong case of jet lag. Then Tuesday afternoon I started to feel really bad. Like really fast. I left work early and became aware on the drive home that perhaps I hadn't left early enough. I barely made it in the door and then I collapsed on my bed. My body was in so much pain I could barely walk down the hall to the bathroom to get the thermometer.

My temperature went up and up and when it got up over 102, approaching 103, I called my friend Christina and made confirmed that she had promised to take Molly and Pete if anything ever happened to me. She offered to take me to the hospital but having already called them I said no. They would only make me wait in chairs and the best I could expect would be a hook up to a bag of saline. Unless I can get Demoral I'm not going.

Many people called and I told them how sick I was. They all wanted to bring me something but I just wanted my mommy. I'm a terrible sick person. I'm mean and unreasonable and the only person I feel completely comfortable being that way around is my mom. She's so lucky.

Yesterday morning it was clear that my temperature was still raging so I started taking aspirin - the miracle drug. I felt well enough to get completely stressed out about pending unemployment and the fact that I could barely make it to the bathroom, much less the computer to send out resumes, made death start to feel like a really viable option. Then the aspirin kicked in and I got some sleep.

I drank some fluids.

I ate some yogurt.

But I couldn't manage the energy to make some tea. I was too tired to deal with fire.

A. called in the afternoon and wanted to bring me soup. I told him to call me back in a few hours because by then I would know if I felt good enough to allow someone in the house. I took some more aspirin, dragged myself into the shower and took another nap. When he called at 8 o'clock I had been dreaming about food and requested some motzah ball soup. He showed up an hour later with that and more, you know, just in case I felt like eating. I was able to get down about a cup of soup and I had the energy of a wet rag.

But he made me tea.

Put me back in bed.

Did the dishes.

Held my hand.

Told me I looked gorgeous even when I'm sick.

And went home.

Even though he's not "the one," he is most definitely one in a million. I am still laid low by this foul virus, but I have a couple quarts of motzah ball soup which should last a couple days, and a turkey sandwich in case I ever feel like eating solid food again.