This week, I’ve been sick. as. a. dog. I don’t know what that means, but apparently it means really sick. Ok. I’m now forced to look it up. This is the best I could find, but I don’t buy it. I’ve had sick dogs. Sick as a dog means to me really, really, really sick.
Anyways, it all really sucked as it came on the heels of a lovely long thanksgiving weekend of spending time with great friends and having/making worlds collide along with lots of happy alone time with paints and canvases.
Tuesday morning I felt like death. Well, I thought I felt like death. Little did I know what the rest of the week would bring. Wednesday I felt on the mend and was convinced I would be back at work. Then, later Wednesday, the migraine (or what I thought was a migraine) struck. Thursday morning I woke up to piercing ear and face and face pain. I had a sinus infection AND an ear infection. I am far too familiar with both to ignore them. So, I promptly made a trip to the clinic and got drugs. I have no known drug allergies and accepted the double dose of antibiotics prescribed as well as the pain-killers that I almost always throw out, but I don’t believe in suffering and a suffering mum with two sprogs in tow who might be a little freaked out might need a little something to get her through so as not to freak ’em out.
I arrived home to find my dog was pissed off enough at me for not walking him enough or paying him enough attention to have pissed in my bed. Having NO energy, I let it sit (gross, yeah? what do you do when you’re crawling just to get to the washroom?) and headed for the couch. By 11ish, I was in enough pain to take the pain meds.
I hadn’t taken any in years and had forgotten how loopy codeine makes me feel. It makes me feel loopy. Like, I’m treading on the crisp, outer layer of reality and will fall through any time, loopy. This includes vicious spins. This includes vicious spins on a double dose of antibiotics and stomach full of a wee bit of soup…I was praising the bucket god by one a.m.
Friday morning I felt terrible. Terrible for having no sleep to speak of. Terrible for having to call in sick (working from home) again. Terrible for taking a drug I’d had icky (but not that icky) side-effects with before. Terrible for not just taking the first couple of days off to rest instead of working from home. Terrible for not being able to be at work. Terrible for another day in which I couldn’t feel like a proper mother/employee/friend/fur mama. Also terrible for freaking the son out a bit by needing to lie down in his sister’s room while I waited for him to the finish in the washroom. I felt terribly, terribly guilty.
I worked through most of the week from home and prepared what meals I could and cleaned as much as I could. Today, I awoke feeling much more like a human being again, until I looked around just how bad the house had been let go and cried a little, then set on with getting shit done. First order of business was my bed. Fucking done. I didn’t do it all and I luckily had the help of my daughter and her bestie to get things somewhat in order. I’ll do more tomorrow and will get caught up eventually. I’ve been able to cook and to keep two meals down too, so far. That makes me feel like a rock star.
Still, I’ve cancelled all of my plans for the weekend in order to ensure I stay on the up and up after all of that and to get caught up on home and work stuff. But I still feel guilty. I missed my PA at work. I’ve missed deadlines. I’ve let friends down.
I know I don’t deserve all of that guilt. I was just sick. I need to write all of the feelings out so I can get them out and look back and remember and move on from there. It’s just what I do, even if not here always.
Peace and don’t catch the plague!