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Super Secret Agent Spy

I am a writer. And a doodler. And an eater of Twizzlers. And the mother of MuShu, the wonder puppy. I love long walks on the beach, fast cars, fine din. . .whoops. Wrong website. . ....

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For the Love of Well Being

Amy Fagan

HOLY CRAP! That was awful. It was simply awful.

I haven’t been that sick in a very, very long time. Wow. WOW. It started on Wednesday. . .well, my co-workers might say that it started on Monday with the symptoms of me being a horrid, cranky raging bitch, but I started to physically feel it on Wednesday. At 4:00 p.m. on Wednesday, it was the slightest tickle in the back of my throat. At 6:00 that same evening, I was sucking on throat lozenges like there was no tomorrow. By 8:00 p.m., I was breathing fire, fevered and barely able to swallow. “It will be fine,” I thought. “I’ll sleep and when I wake up, I’ll be fine.”

So much for my fortune telling abilities.

I awoke on Thursday with a relentless, low-grade fever and stormed into work nearly psychotic. I had one item that absolutely had to go out. I drafted it, sent it to an attorney for approval, and at the urging of the entire staff, went home.

My throat aching, I guzzled cup after cup of tea and hot chocolate. I submerged myself in a jet-tub full of epsoms salts (water – always my refuge, always). I emerged from the tub sweaty, exhausted and passed out on my bed. . .wearing only my towel. When I woke from that fevered haze, I drank about a gallon of Thera-flu, took a cool shower and passed out again.

Figuring that was the worst of it, I was certain that tomorrow. . .Friday. . .the most magical of all days. . .would see me well. I was certain of it.

Friday morning came and I have to say that Miss Cleo and Dionne Warwick would be disapointed in me. None of my predictions came to pass and if anything, I felt worse. My fevers were bouncing between 99.7 and 100.3. I made the call I hate to make: THE DOCTOR. Aiyeeeeeeeeeee!

Despite being told that my personal physician (and long time friend) Kathy, was booked and couldn’t see me, the staff scheduled me to see another doctor in the same office. For some reason, that made me feel worse. It took everything I had not to pitch a screeching two-year-old fit in the middle of the floor of the waiting room. My SKIN hurt. My HAIR hurt. My TEETH hurt and my eyes were on fire.

In my sickness, I actually considered that such an action might make me feel better. Unfortunately. . .or fortunately, depending on who you ask, as I sucked in the air that was to power a banshee chorus of “I WANNA SEE KATHY! I WANNA SEE KATHY!” , the coughing started, thereby thwarting my temper tantrum.

Thankfully, as I was being walked back to get my “vitals” taken (blood pressure, weight. . .weight. . .as if I don’t feel bad enough already. . .) Kathy spotted me and said “Hey! Long time no see. . .”  I told her that she wouldn’t be seeing me today; that they’d scheduled me to see Dr. Flipburger. She laughed and said “Uh no. Now way. I’ll see you today.” Thank God for small favors. . .and thank God for Kathy. She’s the best g.p. on the planet and there isn’t another person I’d rather see.

The result is that I have a nasty upper-respiratory infection and she’s going to give me antibiotics. . .which I also hate. And I told her so. And she told me to quit whining. She also gave me some excellent anti-histamines that were supposed to put me to sleep. I filled the prescription, went home, swallowed my pills and passed out to Season 3, Disc 2 of Sex and the City

I expected that the worst was over. Now that I’d been examined and had medicine streaming through my system, that I would be juuuust fiiiiine.

Horseshit.

Saturday was the cresendo of every nasty bit of this ailment – I coughed more, my fever stayed high, my throat was sorer, my eyes in pain. I couldn’t talk and when I tried I sounded like some kind of insidious, murdering pervert making threatening calls “Helllloooo Clariccceeee. . .” I said that, like, a hundred times to my buddy-puppy MuShu. . .who would give me that cocked-head “Whaaaat?” look every time I spoke. I forced myself, at one point, to get up, hammer out a blog (about my ex husband? Yikes! What was I thinking? It didn’t even make sense. . .) and try to read and catch up on the goings on of Skirters everywhere.

Once I was done with that, my body felt like it did the day after I ran the Kiawah Half-Marathon: “What in the hell did you do that for?”  I returned to my nest on the sofa, popped more pills, drank more Nyquill, watched more Sex. . .and passed out. I spent a majority of the day sleeping.

I thought that it would never end. I was afraid of what Sunday would bring.

I awoke several times during the night, listening to the thunderstorm outside, hearing limbs falling, leaves blowing. Between my rattled breathing and the storm outside, I somehow managed to fall back to sleep.

This morning, I opened one eye as I came into conciousness. While I was very sweaty and my covers soaked, I felt cooler somehow. I sat up and grabbed the thermometer: 98.3 it said. I moved my head from right to left. No headache. I inhaled deeply and although I did cough, it wasn’t the phlegm rattled fits of days before. I cautiously made my way to the shower.

Once in the shower, I really started to return to life! I scrubbed myself red with a loofah – my own, personal Turkish bath. I scrubbed and shaved and scrubbed and scrubbed, in a frenzy to slough off every bit of any illness that might still cling to my flesh. I put some clothes away. I made hot chocolate. I took my doggie for a ride in the car.

And although all of those activities have left me exhausted, I feel a million miles away from the person I’ve been for the past four days. I’ll keep up my medication and will take it easy for the rest of the day, but it’s small stops in Sick Town that make me remember how lucky I am and how appreciative I should be of my body when I’m well.

This week (Or for as along as my ADD riddled brain can muster. . .) I’m going to greet my body with praise and appreciation for it’s strength and well being. Rather than tell it that it is too wide in the hip, too soft in the thighs, I’m going to thank it for being healthy, strong and glowing. I’m going to LOVE my wellness, LOVE my body and LOVE the fact that I’m not coughing every six seconds.

XOXO