Zombification
I am sick.
It's been a while since I've been this sick, but this was the sort of thing that I felt coming on last night and knew it wasn't going to be good. As soon as I got home from work last night I crawled into bed, emerging only briefly to eat the dinner that Liz made for me, and then back in for 12 hours of huddled shivering. I was vaguely aware that the baby was having a bad night, but I chose to ignore her crying as best I could, either because I was nobly trying to protect her from the bug that had hold of me, or because everytime I got out from under the blanket, I felt like I was reinacting a scene from Titanic.
I crawled back to consciousness this morning, intent on going in to work, or at least to shamble through the motions until someone stopped me. Fortunately Liz was there. She told me to get the thermometer and take my temperature. After going back for the third time to the drawer wherein she assured me the thermometer lay, I found it. Yes it was blue plastic, but I couldn't see that for all the glare from the bathroom lights. I took my temperature.
The thermometer read 90.1 degrees. Apparently I was already in the advanced stages of zombification. Liz asked me if I was using it properly. Of course I was. It's not that difficult to stick a thermometer under your tongue. Perhaps because she had just soloed a rough baby night, she then offered to help me with alternative means of insertion. I declined the offer and began to wash the defective thermometer before putting it away. Liz glanced over at what I was doing and groaned. She took the thermometer away from me, removed its plastic probe cover and handed it back to me. The next, slightly more accurate reading was 101.5.
I decided to work from home which meant that, for the first couple of hours, I stared blankly at Photoshop and dragged the mouse around a bit. The Wacom tablet kept falling off my lap. I ate some chicken noodle soup that Liz made for me (apparently you're supposed to drink the broth too). Finally, I went to lie down for a bit and shiver. Then I got up and went back to staring at Photoshop. I eventually managed to get some real work done, and, somewhere along the way, I stopped shivering and started sweating, and the fever was broken.
I still hurt all over, and my throat is sore, but I'm feeling much better.
If things do turn worse though... aim for the head.
It's been a while since I've been this sick, but this was the sort of thing that I felt coming on last night and knew it wasn't going to be good. As soon as I got home from work last night I crawled into bed, emerging only briefly to eat the dinner that Liz made for me, and then back in for 12 hours of huddled shivering. I was vaguely aware that the baby was having a bad night, but I chose to ignore her crying as best I could, either because I was nobly trying to protect her from the bug that had hold of me, or because everytime I got out from under the blanket, I felt like I was reinacting a scene from Titanic.
I crawled back to consciousness this morning, intent on going in to work, or at least to shamble through the motions until someone stopped me. Fortunately Liz was there. She told me to get the thermometer and take my temperature. After going back for the third time to the drawer wherein she assured me the thermometer lay, I found it. Yes it was blue plastic, but I couldn't see that for all the glare from the bathroom lights. I took my temperature.
The thermometer read 90.1 degrees. Apparently I was already in the advanced stages of zombification. Liz asked me if I was using it properly. Of course I was. It's not that difficult to stick a thermometer under your tongue. Perhaps because she had just soloed a rough baby night, she then offered to help me with alternative means of insertion. I declined the offer and began to wash the defective thermometer before putting it away. Liz glanced over at what I was doing and groaned. She took the thermometer away from me, removed its plastic probe cover and handed it back to me. The next, slightly more accurate reading was 101.5.
I decided to work from home which meant that, for the first couple of hours, I stared blankly at Photoshop and dragged the mouse around a bit. The Wacom tablet kept falling off my lap. I ate some chicken noodle soup that Liz made for me (apparently you're supposed to drink the broth too). Finally, I went to lie down for a bit and shiver. Then I got up and went back to staring at Photoshop. I eventually managed to get some real work done, and, somewhere along the way, I stopped shivering and started sweating, and the fever was broken.
I still hurt all over, and my throat is sore, but I'm feeling much better.
If things do turn worse though... aim for the head.
posted by Wormius at 3:57 PM
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