Thursday evening, I suddenly felt as though my body had run a marathon. Even though our day hadn't been that exciting... every muscle in my body ached. Later that night, I started to feel cold. Freezing cold. By 2 a.m., I was teeth-chattering cold. I was so cold that I wrapped myself in a blanket and put hot packs under my arms and between my legs. Finally, I warmed up enough that I could go to sleep but I was still not well. It was only 55 degrees Friday morning, but I had to drive home with the heat on full blast.
I spent yesterday attempting to sleep in various points throughout my apartment. Unfortunately, a fever, a headache, a neck ache, some nausea and a sore throat kept me from being successful for any significant period of time. Jessie drove up yesterday afternoon and made a Wal-Mart run for me to get many of the supplies neccessary to nurse me back to health. Let it be known... being sick (or, rather, getting well) is expensive. It's taken a little more than 24 hours and three or four types of drugs to do it, but I think I'm starting to feel better.
I've been blessed with a relatively healthy 27 years. I don't get sick all that often, but when I do... I totally takes me out of commission. Rarely is there an inbetween for me. Either an illness isn't enough to slow me down or it puts me on my back. Yesterday was the latter. It hurt to move. It hurt to think. It hurt to think about moving. The biggest problem of all is that my pain was pain I couldn't see.
On St. Patty's Day, I smashed my finger between the cot and the ambulance while loading a patient on a medical run. Depending on how you touch it, that finger still hurts to this day. However, it doesn't bother me because I can see it. I look at it and size up the situation. The pain in my head, neck and thoat, however, is different all together. I can't see it. I can't tell what's wrong by looking at it. For some reason, that drives me insane. I think I could take a smashed finger over a headache any day.