I haven’t had any alcohol at all in weeks. I didn’t eat the bread or the fries that came with last night’s burger. I’m hydrated.
This is just my fibromyalgia being a complete jerk.
By the time I get to work, I will have drawn on every acting skill I have— and that’s quite a few— to present as ‘normal’. I will do my job with absolute professionalism: my students will never know how dreadful My body feels.
After work, I will complete the errands on my to-do list. Those things don’t go away because I feel rotten.
Only when I come home again can I give in to the pain, the sluggishness, and the desire to just go to bed and moan a bit.
But they’re right. I don’t “look sick”. That’s because I am 100% accomplished at making it look like I’m not.
After following the ambulance to Camperdown and then to Warrnambool, I spent last Thursday night at the ER with my dad. Over the course of the night, his pain lessened and his condition improved. At 4am, I was allowed to take him home. We both slept all day, and I didn’t go anywhere else.
By Saturday morning, I had a bad throat. As these things go, I figured it would be a croaky day or two, took some paracetamol, and tried not to think about it.
By the wee hours of Sunday morning I had no voice, a fever, cold sweats and a wracking cough. I was so dizzy that when I had to get out of bed, I had to hold onto the furniture to keep myself from falling over. I stayed in bed, made sure I drank plenty of water, and told my dad not to come near me.
By Monday, my lungs were rattling and squeaking. I could no longer lie flat, and sleep was out of the question. There were moments where I would have gladly accepted my fate if the Reaper had shown up.
I have been out of action ever since, and am still in quarantine. My doctors have me on two different antibiotics, cough syrup, Ventolin and pain meds. I haven’t felt so awful since I had Ross River Fever in 2011.
Today is the first day on which there has been any improvement. My cough is less frequent, although not less violent, and the rattle in my lungs sounds more like rice crispies than a chatty raccoon.
If I were you, I still wouldn’t come near me for a while yet.
It’s fair to say that I know why the person I got this disease from was at the hospital.