It's been a really long week.
Wednesday evening I came down with a really bad stomach flu. It was so violent, that I thought for sure it was food poisoning. Until I got the accompanying 103 degree fever. Then I was pretty sure it was stomach flu. I hadn't had a fever that high since 8 years ago when I had appendicitis.
I had to miss two days of work while my stomach was busy staging a major coup against the rest of my body. I also enjoyed a slight fever-induced delirium (I couldn't keep any fever reducing medicine down...double whammy!).
By Thursday afternoon I was contemplating writing my will:
Dear Blake, you are hereby entitled to my used iPod, my IKEA dresser, my secret stash of yarn, and my well-organized filing cabinets filled with receipts. Love, Rachel.
Also, by Thursday afternoon I'd been without food for 24 hours and was fantasising about what I'd eat when the gremlins in my stomach finally died off. Usually when I have the flu I can't bear to think of food and I'm not hungry at all. This time was different. And it was worse. I spent 72 hours dreaming of milkshakes, cheese fries, kit-kats and Indian curry.
It's no small wonder that yesterday --when my fever was a respectable 100, I'd been able to keep saltines and soup down, and the gremlins were on vacation -- that I sort of overdid it. I had pizza and grapes for dinner. And some ice cream for dessert. And today I'm being meted out my just reward.
Oh well, at least my fever is down and I am returning back to the right side of the bed: I've been sleeping on the couch the past couple nights to try to keep the germs contained (this was my decision, not at Blake's recommendation, mind you). Blake heartily welcomed me back from what he called a "vacation," but I told him sleeping on the couch wasn't a vacation, it was more of a business trip.