The Sweet Smell of…I Can’t Smell Anything

This has been the problem for the last few days.

I am still breathing—not that I was in great danger of not doing so. I was down part of last week with a cold that kept changing its symptom profile, but basically moved between my throat and sinuses. But no pneumonia this year!!

Suna was a darling this weekend and took great care of me. I propped myself up on the couch in the media room, and she kept the household running and nursed me back to health.

So today I am back at work wrapping up a project that went fairly well, if not perfectly. I have other reasons to be slightly optimistic about the future, even if much of what I touched last week underwent a mystical transmogrification into steaming piles of fecal matter—a cosmic situation with which I am not totally unfamiliar. I think I see the light at the end of the tunnel, but I am a little worried about that chugging sound.

So that is what I am grateful for this week: progress in spite of setbacks, kindness and love in the face of human frailties and mistakes.

Pneumonia

Pneumonia. It sounds like it could be a small fishing nation or a part of South America. It's not nearly so fun. I went back to the doctor today to learn that a secondary pneumonic infection has settled into my left lung. It explains why the fever is back with a vengeance and why I am suddenly so weak again.

The drugs are good. They keep me mostly knocked out. [I am posting this after the fact, but I mostly wrote it at the time—explains the disorganization and ramble, huh? No really? My normal style? Oh.]

Friday’s Feast

Appetizer: What is your middle name? Would you change any of your names if you could? If so, what would you like to be called?

I have two middle names: Lee and Anton. I think that having four names has always given me enough name flexibility that I never felt the need to change them. All four have a tradition of sorts. I sometimes write under a pseudonym, but that is primarily a marketing tool. A writer’s name is a brand. I publish nonfiction under my legal name; for fiction, I use my initials.

Soup: If you were a fashion designer, which fabrics, colors, and styles would you probably use the most?

Cottons and other natural fabrics. Whites, blacks, and primary colors. Simple designs, peasant shirts and the like.

Salad: What is your least favorite chore, and why?

Sorting socks. It is simply tedious. There are too many minute variations, too many ways to get it wrong. The socks never pair up 100%, so there are always leftovers, stragglers cluttering up the clean clothes or falling back unused into the laundry.

Main Course: What is something that really frightens you, and can you trace it back to an event in your life?

Financial ruin. I have never experienced it first-hand. When I was young and came close, my parents and circumstances softened the landing. Now days, I realize I am working without a net. What is new is that I am worried about not having a net. Before there was always time to recover.

Dessert: Where are you sitting right now? Name 3 things you can see at this moment.

I am in the bedroom, propped up on a bolster so that I can breathe. Three things that I can see:

1. My sickly reflection in the mirror
2. The top of the oak tree outside the bedroom window
3. Socks waiting patiently to be sorted

Winter Cold

One minute you freeze, the next you roast. That’s what makes a fever so miserable.

Photo by Mal Gilbertson

It is foolish for you—take heed of it—to rise from quilt and feather bead; there is much ice on every ford; that is why I say, “Cold!”

—Anonymous

I have spent the last few days contemplating how quickly our world view can collapse around us. I was taking down the Christmas decorations Saturday when I noticed a tickle in my bronchial tubes. Later that evening I went to the grocery store and found myself really concentrating on just getting the little bit of shopping done that I had to so that I could go home. I’ve already blogged about what happened when I got home, so I won’t bother you with a rerun.

By Sunday morning, my world view had collapsed to the interior of the house. Getting up and down the stairs was a real effort. By Sunday evening, my world consisted of part of the bed and the bathroom. My fever peaked around 104 that night, which is really something when you consider that my typical body temperature is 98 even.

Monday was almost a total loss. I would wake up, go to the bathroom, drink another 16 ounces of water, and go back to bed. This pattern repeated almost hourly. I don’t get sick days in my job, so I had to work as much as I could through this period. Luckily, my boss is willing to let me work from home. Even with a fever that hovered around 100 degrees, I was able to get in almost four hours work between naps.

Tuesday was a repeat, but with a lower fever and longer periods of consciousness. I managed another six hours work, and my world expanded to include the media room. The stairs were still a struggle, but I managed them a couple of times.

Sometime in the night, my fever broke. I woke up this morning pooled in sweat, but my skin no longer felt like stale cheese to me. I even went back to the office and had some meetings today. Everybody wisely kept their distance, even the one who I think brought the virus into the office. The drive in was a challenge as my reflexes were not what I am accustomed to, but I lived and so did everybody else on the road. Nobody even told me I was number one, so it must not have been as bad as it felt from my perspective.

Grateful Monday on Wednesday

So that brings me to this week’s Grateful Monday. Even though it really is Wednesday, it is my Monday. I am so grateful that even though I have often been called sickly, I have learned that all I have to do is take care of myself and my body will heal. One day, there will be something from which I cannot recover. But that is not today, and I will not admit it when it happens. For that I am truly grateful.