I got so sick this weekend you guys. It hit me so fast and so hard I barely even made it home, er, in time. I will spare you all the gory details but let’s just say I lost nearly eight pounds in two days. Thankfully my roommate is a nurse and took the absolute best care of me. If you have to be miserable and pathetic and gross in front of someone who is not contractually obligated to love you anyway, it’s best if you have a good friend who is a professional.
Normally, my immune system is killer. I don’t get sick very often, and I think I started to think I was invincible to anything except the occasional sore throat. I managed to work in and around the hospital during the entire Norwalk outbreak, and get through my Roomie having it without catching anything. In addition to being totally humbling this flu/virus/whatever it was showed me that I’m not very good at resting. (Have we heard this from me before, Internet? I think so).
I don’t know what happened. I used to love TV! But faced with two whole days of nothing but laying on the couch and watching television or reading, I was totally mad. And then bored. I watched a couple of documentaries and a million episodes of Gilmore Girls. But it all felt like a giant waste of time. I could have been cleaning out our storage room and closets, which desperately need doing. I could have gone shopping for skirts to wear in Africa! I could have gone to the travel clinic to get my shots done! I could have gone to my friend’s bridal shower!
In the end, this was probably the best possible weekend for me to get sick. I have something major going every weekend between now and when we leave for Africa. My amazing roommates went shopping on Sunday afternoon and bought a skirt for me (the last one in my size, win!) since I couldn’t really leave the house. And I guess I did accomplish something— I got better. I’m not going to be running a marathon any time soon, but I did make it to work today. But I’m telling you if I never have to eat Chicken Soup again it will be too soon.