Viral (With Photo)
Last night was a half dream of aches and congestion and a heavy cat. Each involuntary swallow a sharp scrape across open membrane. Nightmares flirted with drugged, exhausted semiconsciousness, tossed with anxious knots of memory. Snot drained onto my pillow, as I ran out of tissues. I tried to turn gingerly, to let both of my guys sleep.
I dreamed I was getting a ride in my parents SUV, having gotten my mom boxes of good tea, and hoped to lie down in the back seat and sleep. My father's driving was worse than usual, more like an average Boston cabbie, and as I woke I was angry at myself for going with them, and not with my friends just because I wanted to sleep. (No, my parents have never driven anything faintly SUV-ish.)
I woke for real about 4, journeyed to the bathroom, afraid I would not be able to get back to sleep at all, considered crawling to the sofa and watching bad tv. But I got back to bed, nudging Moby over a bit, putting a hand on D's back, and stumbled into a kind of doze, only waking enough when D kissed me to remember he was off to work this morning.
Later, I put out a foot to nuzzle Moby, and he licked my toe a while, and his muscular tail thumped my ankle reassuringly. I forced my way to the floor, joints screaming, to make tea and cereal.
After a few hours, and a shower, I began to feel I'd passed through the worst. My temperature was down to my normal low, my congestion sounding worse than I felt. So, the virus is losing to the mighty white cells. Tomorrow is a regular day off.
What is it about a simple, common cold, that always makes me wonder if I'm going to make it?