The Flu Comes to Alegria

It all started last Tuesday…  Well, it all probably started with the Big Bang, but I think a more recent launching point is more appropriate… So, last Tuesday morning I awoke to a slight crick in my neck.  This is nothing to get alarmed about as cricks in the neck have plagued me since I was injured on a trampoline 35 years ago.  I put it down as a reminder of youthful stupidity and carried on with my week.

 

On Wednesday, I felt like I was developing a slow leak in my energy reserves.  Again, I didn’t think much of it, really.  I mentally kicked myself for slacking off on my exercising and told myself that I would get back into the routine on Thursday.

On Thursday, I was a tad sluggish getting out of bed.  Instead of getting up and getting moving, I lolled about for an extra half an hour, trying to snuggle with Oliver, who wasn’t very snuggly and just wanted me to get up and feed him.

 

By the end of the day, I was worn out.  I managed to assist my daughter in setting up a bookkeeping spreadsheet for her business in the evening, but as soon as she left, I flopped into bed.  Now I was beginning to wonder what was up.  When I woke up at midnight with my book lying on my chest, I noticed that the crick was worse.  Oh, dear.

 

Friday dawned with a promise of spring in the air.  But I couldn’t have cared less.  My neck was aching badly and I just wanted to crawl back into bed and stay there.

 

This is not like me!  Not at all!  I’m typically up and moving between six and six-thirty a.m.  My normal routine is to don my workout clothes and set up my lap top in front of my Gazelle from which I watch some sitcom on Netflix.  The purpose of the sitcom is to time myself on the Gazelle and add some entertainment value.  After I’m done on the Gazelle, I stretch for a few minutes and then clean Oliver’s litter box.  (While I’m there, I might as well get it over with.)  Back upstairs I hop into the shower, get dressed, settle in at the table to check my e-mail and have a bite to eat before packing my lunch and heading off to work.  If at all possible, I walk to work.

 

This past week I’ve barely been able to keep my eyes open passed 9 p.m.  I’ve been slightly grumpy and sensitive.  I’ve had no energy.

I was looking forward to having company on Friday evening in spite of the low energy.  When my company called to say that they were unable to make it over because they were suffering from a terrible cold, I was a bit bummed, but I understood.  Perhaps it was all for the best.  I really wasn’t feeling all that great either.  We promised to connect again post-rhinovirus and I decided to get into my pyjamas and just have a quiet evening on the sofa.

Then it happened!

Without warning it felt like the temperature in the house had dropped to zero.  I was shivering and the crick in my neck spread out through my whole body attacking my joints with stabbing pain.  My guts started to gurgle and then roil and then I prepared myself for a Vesuvian eruption of the rejected repast I had partaken of earlier.

 

Vomiting is not among my favourite activities.  In fact, I have not vomited since I was in labour with my oldest daughter over 29 years ago and it is my determined intention never to do so again.  But still, I was prepared!  I set a bowl down on the foot stool next to the sofa, added a sweater, warm socks, a blankie and a heated magic bag and focused on not puking.

Of course, we all know that when a true flu bug hits, it’s going to come out one end or the other.  I will spare you the details.  Suffice it to say that I managed not to throw up and almost as soon as I didn’t throw up, I fell asleep on the couch.  It was 8:30.

At ten o’clock I was woken up by Oliver, whose deep concern for my wellbeing – after all my behaviour was quite out of the norm – caused him to drop one of his toy mice on my face, a sure way of getting my attention.  I looked at him and groaned.  He pawed at the mouse, hopeful for a game of fetch.  I groaned again and tossed the sodden thing across the room.  That bought me about three seconds to crawl out from under the blanket and sit up.

 

Having accomplished sitting up, I endeavored to heave my aching, shivering body off the couch and shuffle off to bed, still wearing the sweater, the socks and cocooned in the blanket.  I attempted to read a page or two of my book, but that was out of the question.  Two sentences in, I gave up and turned out the light. 

The next thing I knew it was 9 a.m. 

Every joint in my body is screaming with pain, including my knuckles.  Typing this missive is not going well or fast.  My guts are still gurgling, but the roiling has subsided and I’m relatively sure that if I stick to sipping water and nibbling on soda crackers I’ll be fine in a day or two.

 

So much for working on my spare room this weekend!  The thought of scraping the last of the wall paper (I’m so close, too!) and beginning the filling and sanding portion of the project is simply beyond my ability at the moment.  I’m going to have a shower and get dressed and head down town though.  There are a few errands that need to be attended to and Oliver simply cannot be depended on to see them through.

 

Thank goodness this doesn’t happen very often.  I can’t remember the last time I had the flu.  Every couple of years I get a doozy of a cold, but the flu is extremely rare.  I’ve felt under the weather now and then – achy and low on energy – but not like this.  This is so not fun!