I'm so sick. My face is turning blue, I have such a hard time breathing. I'm as sick as I was for my wedding, and if I had insurance I'd probably find out I have pneumonia. I've eaten two bowls of EasyMac since Saturday, but I don't know if those count because every time I get a hacking coughing fit, whatever's gone into my stomach makes a reappearance. I've maybe kept down a glass of yerba mate a day, out of the 4 I've tried. The Hub stayed home from work two days this week because I can't be trusted to stay conscious long enough to make the Huckster a PB&J -- the dizzy + the tile = black and blue elbow from Monday, the dizzy + the wall = goose egg on back of head from Wednesday. I even have a phlegm/barf bucket next to the bed. How's that for fancy?
However, I do have antibiotics and a steroid inhaler, samples given to me yesterday by our GP at Huck's appointment for his sleep issues. Very handy, that appointment, and very glad I made it a week ago before I took a dive. Steroids good. Leftover codeine cough syrup from my former-and-now-under-investigation evening and weekend doctor good, too.
With how Huck and I handle the holidays (healthwise), I should just go ahead and book an appointment for December 24th now. Someone will need it.
So, yes, I suck around here right now. But at least I decided last month that I wouldn't be hosting Thanksgiving. And the pie I was going to contribute is no longer needed -- turns out they don't want a serving of blueberry bronchitis -- go figure. But Hubs will once again fry the turkey out on the driveway, plus we have an Adorable! Boy! to share, so our contributions are set.
And here's an example of a time when I think to myself, "Self, everyone should have a Huckle, because Huckle is an enchanting, fantastic little boy who knows how to disarm the crustiest of crusties with a few words!" I was busy trying not to suffocate myself (ie throwing up in the kitchen sink -- yay garbage disposal), and after the throwing up came the gasping and the tears and the spitting and the sobs (I'm not just being dramatic, I can't throw up and not cry -- just can't). Hubs and Huck were watching me from the family room (they're both very used to it after the last four days -- even the random blackouts don't have them running anymore), and Huck says tearfully to Hubs, "I just want Mommy to be happy again."
Swoon. Again. Well, more of a stagger -- Chin vs. butcher block on a straight-down crumple.
I'm gonna give Huck the credit for that one, though, not the lack of oxygen.