Being stuck on my death bed/flu infested mattress swallowed whole by the nasty of nastiest bugs and to top it all off a sinus infection to boot, has made me more self aware of my total inability to suffer through any amount of pain. I'm a wuss. A big yellow bellied chicken and I hate pain.
Lying here suffering from what I can recall as my only encounter with "the flu" ever, I wonder how it can even remotely cross my mind that I could try giving birth, second time around drug free. I can't even handle the damn flu. I've maintained a sub-level of consciousness these past few days as well as a topsy turvy new age circadian rhythm that involves me sleeping for 2 hours at a time and then waking up in a hot sweat or cold chills and not passing out again for at least 4 hours.
I'm survived by a regular "fix" of sudafed, chased with extra strength tylenol and a daily hit of azythromyocin. In between these drug highs is what I can only describe as pure self pity in it's most basic human form. I cry and wonder what it was like to feel well again. To be able to smell my surroundings and hear my dogs scarf down my barely touched dinner I was saving for later in the evening when I might actually be hungry. I can't smell my food, or taste it and I can't hear a bloody thing. I had to ask Mr. Price if my pits stank. He didn't verbally reply, but the wince and disgust on his face really said it all, I had to shower and use some deodorant. STAT.
I've googled purchasing one of those biohazard/anti radiation portable shower booths, after exposure, you step into one of these babies and it sanitizes you so thoroughly you could lick a spoon cleaner than to soak it in a tub of bleach. Oooh to be germ free, it sounds very luxurious. Obviously such a device is out of my price range, and I don't think these vendors accept MasterCard. Dammit.
My toes hurt. In between my toes hurts. Every time I cough, my cerebellum likes to remind me that it's there by jumping up and down on the top of my spinal cord. Every time I want to blow my nose, surely there's a gallon of snot stuck up in there, why won't it come out? It's like every vessel inside my cranium, behind my eyes and even those pushing through my teeth throb so intensely it's like they belong to a low riding Cadillac that's roaring through my head and vibrates all the glassware in the house, inside my head, just like they do when they ride down your street at 2am.
So I'm laying in bed, a window cracked so I can see the gorgeous outdoor weather I am missing out on and can't help but notice the human growing inside of my hasn't noticed I'm sick. The baby (mystery sex) is running about and jumping as if nothing has changed, meanwhile, I'm wallowing in self pity over the flu and how much it hurts all over and am reminiscing about the time when I could breathe through both nostrils simultaneously. Yeah, after the flu, giving birth is going to be a piece of cake. As long as the cake is laced in an extreme hallucinogen and then directly injected into my spinal cord.
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