I was supposed to be at the far end of the country all week. Given that I have been sick for the last two weeks, and was gradually getting worse, leaving in the first place was probably a mistake.
After not leaving the house all weekend, I set out at lunchtime on Monday with my usual bag of clothes, and reached the hotel at about 6pm. I then proceeded to cough my way through the entire evening, and got about four hours sleep. After a pretty full-on next day, I returned to the hotel and didn’t sleep at all. There was a point in the early hours of the morning when I started to consider calling for a doctor, or heading to a nearby hospital. I have never come close to doing anything like that before.
After no sleep at all on Tuesday night, I emailed work, and let the staff at the client site know that I would be wrapping up and coming home. In the space of the one hour I was there I ate an entire packet of lozenges to try and stop coughing. Nothing worked. The cocktail of nurofen and paracetamol I was on was starting to make me confused too. I fond myself having trouble thinking straight, or forming coherent sentences – I actually laughed at myself on one occasion.
During the train journey home, I kept feeling bad for fellow passengers – there was a guy in front of me trying to sleep – my coughing must have kept him awake. I bought cups of tea every time the lady came past with the trolley, and sipped them slowly – which kind of worked – but there’s only so many cups you can drink in a row.
I eventually got home at about half-past four, and sat on my own in the lounge (with another cup of tea) for about an hour. One by one, the children all came home from school and found me – taking turns to tell me what they had been up to in my absence, and to ask how I was doing.
Immediately after dinner I went to bed, and slept for the first time in two days. Of course I woke in the middle of the night and nearly threw up, coughing like a lunatic, but then slept again.
I’m not in work today, and can’t imagine being in tomorrow. I’m sitting quietly at home, putting clothes through the washing every few hours, but otherwise trying not to move – because when I do, I start coughing again, and when I cough, the headache caused by the cough gets worse.
Rather than watch daytime television, I’m quietly surfing the internet. I’m avoiding Facebook and Twitter on account of knowing so many people in the US – they are continually flooding the social internet with apocalyptic reports of the mess Trump is making of the country. Although I agree with everything they are upset about, there’s only so much of it I can read on a given day before it brings me down too, so I end up turning my back, and trying to distract myself with anything else. And I feel guilty about doing that.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment with the kettle, a teabag, my mug, and another paracetamol. I wonder if we have any soup for lunch ?