Dude ... That's sick

Live and well at last!

There is nothing like being awfully sick to make you appreciate your (otherwise normal) good health.

One night last week I came home and, before I could begin to make supper, a 500-pound gorilla sat on my chest.

Well, not really. But that's how it felt. I was gasping. My bronchia were squeezed tight. I sank into a recliner and stayed there for an hour or so. And I began to cough. Deep, chest-rattling coughs.

A day or two later, I got home on a Thursday night, put on my pajamas, sat down, and basically didn't get up again for the next four days. To say I had a chest cold is like saying Hurricane Katrina was a strong breeze. Not even close.

I didn't leave the house until late Tuesday, and I stayed home from work until Wednesday, two days ago. For three nights, I slept in the recliner, swathed in Polarfleece blankets; if I tried to lie down in bed, the resulting wet chest cough made me sit right up again.

So yeah, I was pretty sick. How sick was I? So sick that Saturday night, I missed Kevin's confirmation at St. Sebastian's, and dinner at a restaurant afterwards. So sick I couldn't eat anything but broth the next day, Mother's Day. Who knew May still had flu germs lurking about?

I'm back, and while tired, I'm really glad to have that unpleasantness behind me. I managed to read two lightweight page-turners by Jodi Picoult and do several dozen crossword puzzles and untold Sudokus.





Meanwhile, the kids gave me cute cards for Mother's Day, and Michael brought me two Reese's peanut butter cups, which I saved until yesterday to eat, since I couldn't taste anything until then.

Caroline came over today and we had fun with Photobooth again.


Yesterday I got a nice haircut from Eileen, so I'm ready for some very busy weeks to come. Bring on Brown's Commencement and Melinda's graduation.


Miss Caroline, you are sweet enough to eat! Nom nom.