I think I’m almost back to normal — well, normal for me.
The “fun” began Saturday about noon. I was doing some simple rewiring of a couple of light switches in our basement when I realized I had no energy(me, not the circuit, which was also off, since I was working on it). I was flaked out in the recliner by the time the ladies returned from a morning dance practice.
My wife and daughter took charge of the situation, shifting into caregiver mode. Spouse felt my forehead and suddenly my kid was pushing a thermometer under my tongue — 101.1 F (while I grasp Celsius for outdoor temperatures, my interior temperature has to remain in Fahrenheit for me to understand). Up 2.5 degrees. No wonder I felt like an All-Pro linebacker had flattened me.
I had on a T-shirt under a mock turtleneck under a hoodie, but still I felt cold. My nursing staff gave me the light blanket I requested, delivered a glass of water, handed me the remote for the TV and retreated upstairs to keep out of Germ Central.
The chills didn’t abate, and they invited their sick buddies, the aches and pains, to come by for a visit. Pains settled in my abdomen (which is pretty significant), while aches moved around like a restless cat looking for a place to nap, but never quite finding the perfect spot.
Shortly, my medical crew returned on their rounds. I called my wife “Pam,” just like the guy in this commercial. After hearing I was cold, my wife fetched a nearby blanket. I was expecting a nice wool one we keep downstairs for couch or recliner naps, but she went over to our daughter’s part of the basement and returned with the warmest one she could find — a Camp Rock blanket featuring the Jonas Brothers on it.
So only a couple of weeks after I bugged a buddy for sleeping under that blanket after he’d had too much from the Corcoran Bar to drive home, here I was nestled under the thing. I have to admit, it is warm.
I spent my Saturday afternoon drinking water to try to flush out that fever, and dozing off and on. Two Tylenol and a Gravol sent me off to bed for the night.
The next day brought Phase 2 of my illness. Let’s just say it involved frequent visits to our downstairs throne. At least the fever was gone and the pains in my abdomen had explained themselves. Ugh.
Another day glued to the recliner, drinking liquids. I’d been chugging water like a champ, but the fact is I flushed out electrolytes. The next thing I knew, I had Gatorade, courtesy of my sister-in-law; head of the secondary caregiver brigade. Ahh. Almost instant relief from a headache Excedrin didn’t touch.
By Monday, I was well onto the road to recovery, but still a bit weak. I did manage to finish off the electrical wiring, but what should have taken perhaps 45 minutes took at least two hours.
So far, knock on wood, I am the only one in the house to suffer this illness. I am told it is pretty contagious and is making its run around Chatham-Kent this winter.
My wife did a great job essentially disinfecting everything in my wake, except the downstairs washroom. She and my daughter avoided that like a bomb went off in there. Or rather several. That spot was mine to clean and disinfect, since I took such “ownership” of it.
Thanks, family, for taking care of me. We men really do shut down when we get sick.