her able hands

Where’s my whaaaaaambulance?

What a week.

I had Lila home every day with what we finally determined on Wednesday was a nasty case of the latest flu virus sweeping its way across the midwest. Her fever finally broke after six days, but she’s still runny and has a crippling periodic cough. But I’m out of days so she’s going back to daycare tomorrow. We’ll have to give it a try.

I’m still coughing like a consumptive woman in a Victorian novel and have used at least 20 bags of Ricola Honey Herb throat losenges since Christmas night. My head hurts like I have hot nails shoved into my sinus cavities and my frontal lobe throbs along with my heartbeat. Disconcerting to say the least. For about an hour this afternoon the sun came out and I got into the fetal position on the couch with a folded over baby blanket draped over my eyes to ride it out until the next bank of snow clouds moved in, and oh, thanks be to the Maudess that they did. It felt like a disco in my head.

On Thursday I had that re-treatment of the 20 year-old root canal gone bad and I’m still in a lot of pain, my face swollen just enough on that side to make me look like a mild stroke victim. The polyp at the edge of the sinus cavity seems a hell of a lot larger now and I’m just watching and waiting for the thousands of milligrams of Penicillin I’ve ingested to take effect.

It’s Sunday. It’s cold. It’s grey. I wish I could get away from myself. Just for a few hours. Like unscrew my head and take a quick ride somewhere sunny and warm without it.

You know it’s bad when a new pile of seed catalogs not only fails to cheer me up but actually makes my face hurt more.

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