Return of the Living Dead

In case you've been wondering where I've been, I've been in HELL. After working my usual three-day weekend (Sat/Sun/Mon), I was thoroughly looking forward to my six day stretch off and mentally making a list of all the things I needed and wanted to do.

Obviously the fates had other plans for me.

On Tuesday evening, I managed to whip up some dinner. Soon afterwards though, I began to feel not so great. Then my head started to pound. I laid down, packing my head and neck in ice, hoping to stall the onslaught of pain that was fast approaching. It didn't work. I then attacked my medicine cupboard with a vengance born of suffering, and quickly downed a Vicodin. My dear hubby came to check on me after tucking the kids in bed and found me in agony. His sympathy and tenderness only served to bring me to tears, which of course did nothing to alleviate the pain. But bless his heart, he just held me and soothed me, murmuring reassurances and making shushing sounds, like one does for an inconsolable baby.

Here is where I make a confession. I have a severe "waiting for the other shoe to drop" issue. This could be also known as bad karma comin' to get me, or whatever you want to call it. There's an elephant in the room in the back of my head that I try desperately to ignore. That elephant is the fear that something will happen to me that will take me away from my family. Or that someone in my family will be taken from me.

So of course, when excruciating pain comes on in a matter of hours, in one's HEAD, one naturally starts to think brain tumor, aneurysm, or something mildly annoying like meningitis. (Which I've had and it was more than mildly annoying, to be honest.) Ok, so maybe not everyone's mind naturally strays to those diagnoses, but having worked in hospitals for the better part of 15 years, you realize how quickly life can change. I've been a silent witness to tradegy striking down families and it only serves to remind me to appreciate life every single day. And how it could happen to me.

But anyway...

After crying myself out and the Vicodin kicking in, I melted away to sleep. I woke a few times during the night and thought "Oh thank goodness...the headache's going away." But along with the sun (and snow, I might add) it returned in the morning and with a vengeance. I won't bore you with all the details, but suffice it to say I didn't leave my bedroom until about 6pm that night. I did manage to make it out of bed to deposit my stomach's contents in the toilet several times, but that was the extent of me getting out of bed. Josh stayed home from work to wrangle the kids and, even though the noise was exceptionally painful to my throbbing noggin, the fact that he vaccummed and did several loads of laundry was humongously appreciated. He knows me so well. While I lay there in bed, writhing in agony, my mind is also ticking off all the things that need to be done, that I should be doing, which only adds to my pain.

Today the head is better, feeling only like I'd rapped my head on a wall a few times, which is an improvement over the nails-being-driven-in-your-skull feeling of yesterday. Unfortunately, I think yesterday's pharmaceutical forays have wreaked havoc on my stomach and intestines for I've had the pleasure of some quality time in the bathroom today. 'Nuff said.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed that for the remainder of my days off I will not be beset by malaria, some kind of flesh-eating bacteria or so much as a hangnail. I really have things to do, places to go and people to see. And I just don't have the time, or interest, in spending another single minute of it feeling like The Living Dead.

p.s. No pictures posted of this day's events as a small mercy to entire mankind.