My inner foodie craves Chic-fil-a or Cook Out to satisfy my need to taste. My lack of appetite and taste makes it difficult to eat even oatmeal. Soup has to have salt, garlic salt, onion salt, and pepper added just to make it appetizing. Water and ginger-ale seem to not be effective at warding of the dizziness any more. I have to eat. This is day 4 of the flu.
Friday, the secretary wished me well and a good weekend as I called in sick. Saturday, the ER physician warned me that I may feel down for several days or weeks. Sunday was okay, made flax-seed hair gel, rested, packed bags for Jai’la and Camar for their trip to grandma’s, and had enough strength to wash Ashley’s long and thick crown of 4b/c hair. I took my meds on time, like clockwork, throughout the day. Yes, I was exhausted, but I managed. “I’ll be back to work in no time”, I thought, by “Wednesday at the latest”.
The mister and I both woke up coughing and gagging, struggling for air as we fumbled over tissues and phones looking for water. A couple of glasses of ginger-ale and Motrin tablets later and we were back to sleep. But 7 a.m….Honey boo boo chile. The alarm sounded like a train and the bright sunlight forcing its way through my blinds caused the severest of headaches. The lightning and thunderstorm within my brain was reminiscent of those I used to experience before, during, and after partial seizures. This was an aura and I patiently waited for it to come over me. Within 20 minutes I was in the hallway floor uncontrollably crying, sobbing, and yelling out. Afterwards, my husband walked me to the bed as my legs buckled beneath me and placed me in the bed.
4 hours later, and I’m in bed fresh from a shower. Naked, congested, my head aches with the slightest movement. Craving the taste of hot, greasy foods, but no appetite to eat. A tired body with a racing mind. Too dizzy to walk downstairs, to drive. I’ve all but given up on life right now.
Maybe Wednesday is too soon.