I Didn't Say I Wasn't Dramatic. But I'm Also Dying.

I don’t know, you’d have to ask my family. I don’t think I’m a hypochondriac. I think the potential was there, mind you, but then I had children and now I don’t have time to be. I mean trust me, I’d love to “come down” with a little this, a little that and have to be laid up in the bed for 48 hours watching movies and being waited on, but wouldn’t you know it these little ankle biters came right into my life and took that job over.

How I went from wishing for Lyme disease to serving them Lucky charms in bed (and cleaning up their puke afterwards) I will never know. But they did it.

And then this weekend…

I’ve been hit hard before. I was hit once by a truckload of illegal immigrants who fled the scene while I sat in my car and cried. I’ve been hit with a softball at a church tournament and my mom bought me a pickle for my pain. But this weekend beat all.

I was hit and hit hard. On Friday night I was eating sushi with the family. And by Saturday morning I was on the cold metal table in an urgent care clinic pleading with The AG to place a pillow over my face and then leave quickly and quietly. (Don’t be one of those who say, “it was probably the sushi” just because you don’t like sushi. It wasn’t the sushi. How do I know? Because everyone else in my family swam all day long Saturday while I lay in bed making out my will.)

Saturday mornings are my favorite time of the week. The AG takes the kiddos to breakfast and usually Home Depot, while I lay in bed and watch movies like Dear John or Step Up or She’s The Man or G.I. Joe (can you figure this one out?). But this Saturday I couldn't even make it through Dear John. Now that is sick! I called my mom and asked her to drive me to the doctor so that I could hurl the whole way there and she obliged with a “yes, baby, yes, baby, okay, baby.”

The body aches and the chills were unbearable. There were not enough blankets to lay on top of me and so I just sat and cried. Finally a shot in the hip and two in my arm provided me with the most peace I had thus far. The aches began to subside and the nausea went away.

To this moment they are not sure if what I was fighting was viral pneumonia or bacterial pneumonia – but they enjoyed throwing that word around and I pretended to listen.

Thankfully mom was there to both listen to the doctors and write down her grocery list simultaneously. Doctors tend to make her nervous which is what I am blaming for her coming over to wipe a cool rag on my forehead and then looking closer at my face and saying, “You are really getting a lot of sunspots for your age.”

So here I am now, at home, laid up in the bed and well, it ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sure they brought me my food on a tray. But at one point Remi came in the room and said, “Why do you have my Cinderella tray? Your sick is no excuse.” I suppose it’s better than her noticing my sun spots. Or maybe not. I don’t feel like caring.