Cold of the Century

I just had bronchitis back in March, so at that point I felt like I had hit my "really sick" quota for the year.  Wrong. 

A few weeks ago, I filled in some health-themed blanks with one of my favorite weekly link-ups.

It was then that I had started to feel crummy.  It all started with a sore throat (that quickly went away - hallelujah), and progressed into congestion and some chest gunk.

Last week, after a week of the funk, I finally went to the doctor.  She said I had a sinus and upper respiratory infection, prescribed a nice, 5-day Z-Pack antibiotic, and sent me on my way.

The medicine quickly zapped the wah-wah-wahing that had taken residence in my head, and started to break up the nastiness in my chest, introducing a super sexy cough.  On Saturday, Mom and I headed to Seattle to take pictures of Rachel, and on Sunday I had a lovely coffee date with Sarah, but otherwise I rested and let my butt make a really nice imprint on the couch.

Before I knew it, Monday was here and the head-wah-wah-wahing had returned full force.  I dragged myself out of bed and got ready for work, and counted down the minutes until I would call my doctor's office back to say, "Help me.  I'm coming in."

    I had no intentions of coming back to work.

The doctor prescribed a second round of stronger antibiotics and said my body is too tired to fight the crud off on its own.  Super.

I felt worse as the days went on.  Tuesday and Wednesday I stayed home from work and clocked some major nap time on the couch with puppies, drank my weight in water and orange juice, and willed myself to feel better.

I should note that on Tuesday night, Ryan was kind enough to bring a hot washcloth for me to put over my eyes.  After the second request for re-warming - he got the bright idea to put the washcloth underneath the sink insta-hot dispenser.  I heard "AH!" and "AHH!" coming from the kitchen... Because it's an insta-hot... And asked Ryan if it was too hot to put on my face. He said no, and placed it over my eyes.  It wasn't until he patted it down onto my eyeballs that I wondered if he singed off my eyebrows and eyelashes. 

Today, I decided to put my big girl britches on and go into work.

Yeah, that lasted about an hour.  As soon as I dizzily walked in the main door to my building, I immediately regretted my decision and said to myself, "You can do this.  Suck it up.  Take it an hour at a time."

The deal clincher was when my regular work-bathroom was being cleaned and I had to walk downstairs to another. The walk down and back up the stairs was a little too full of sweat, dizziness, and that newly familiar feeling of, "Oh, crap - I'm going to pass out."

I walked into my supervisor's office, and I think my pale white face said it all.

Needless to say, what I am now calling "The Cold of the Century" is really wearing out it's welcome.  Ryan and I, Rachel and Spencer, and my parents are all supposed to go to the Mariner game tomorrow (hello, Anaheim Angels and Albert A-jols) so I am really hoping that I will kick the funk before then.  

Otherwise I foresee major party pooper-age in my future.

Take Luck,

LP