I've been sick.
Like for this past week, I've done nothing much but be in bed -
sick. I hate that kind of
sick.
Anyhow, so last weekend starts. Starts off to be a nice one with my family. But for some odd reason I did a LOT and I mean a LOT of sleeping. My husband kept looking at me like a sloth. I'd glare at him. Leave him with the baby. Roll over and commence my sleeping. I'm a very good sleeper.
Until 2 pm hit and I was still tired and sleeping. Ah, the infamous
light bulb! we all realized I was not feeling well. Sunday... Mother's day... MY day... I started to have difficulty swallowing. Not good. But I have come to realize this as a normal sign (unfortunately).
Cue the fade out into memory-ville.
You see, I was born with tonsillitis. While pregnant with me, my mom's tonsils got badly infected. She in fact, had to have them removed after giving birth to me. Hence, from day 1, my tonsils have literally been swollen. I grew up with doctors contemplating removing them. "But she's so young," they'd all say and I'd end up with antibiotics to take. It ended up being an annoying cycle that during my teenage years I said, "Screw it! They're not going to do a thing about it besides give me more antibiotics."
So my tonsils were infected...
AGAIN... Come Tuesday I felt sick to the point that I actually go to the doctor's. Light-headed, dizzy, can't swallow a thing, can't talk. There, the nurse jams a Q-tip down my throat and literally blocks my air passage.
THAT IS HOW BADLY SWOLLEN THESE BEASTS ARE. Stupid Q-tip blocks my oxygen.
Well... they refer me to an ENT (Ear, Nose, Throat) doctor who will discuss getting them OUT. And proceed to give me three injections. One a very potent penicillin, which feels like glue was being injected into me. One was a pain killer. And the third was an antibiotic.
Now I'm not squeamish. I handle needles and shots very well. But after all that crap, I got SO dizzy the nursing staff had me laying down and called Jon to pick me up. Even after I told them all I was FINE. They refused to let me do much of anything.
Well an hour or two later I'm no longer dizzy and those injections actually worked to the point that I was able to swallow my own spit without any pain. Yay! (But those injections were so freakin thick my hips hurt for like 4 days after that! I felt like an old woman. Sigh.)
So I think I'm on the verge of recovery. The next day I was even able to move about without dizziness or lightheaded-ness. But it was a
TEASE! A
TEASE I say!
Because on Thursday... Thursday was apparently my almost death day. I don't know what happened but I got worse.
I remember dragging myself out of bed to change the baby. Dragging myself to feed the baby. It was 75 degrees in the house and I felt like it was cold. Of course I realized I had a fever. Which sucked because my son kept trying to get my attention. All I know is, it was around 4:30 (because this show I watch always comes on at 4:30)... I fed the baby and set him down for his nap besides me. Even to this day he loves getting swaddled, so I swaddled him. (Also keeps him from rolling while he's sleeping I tell you what!) And I lay down too.
Now the next bit of stuff is well pretty much secondhand... I don't recall... well... like 99% of it.
Jon comes home about 5: 30 and hears the baby crying as loud as he could. Considering the baby is right next me, I wasn't moving an inch.
Jon says my name. No response. He says my name again. Still no response. He calls my name one more time. Nothing. Well he said he started shouting my name and got nothing out of me. He runs to my side of the bed and grabs me and I finally react but was totally incoherent and pathetically lethargic. He said I was burning up. He jammed a thermometer in my mouth and it read 102.7 degrees. Loverly isn't it? He said he forced me to take some fever reducers and then tried to have me drink more water but I kept refusing the water. He said he was on the verge of panic.
He then literally carries me into the bathroom (now this I do remember) and tries to get me into a tub of cold water where I screamed over and over while crying, "It's COLD! It's COLD!" Jon later told me that the water was really lukewarm but to me it felt ice cold. And I wasn't just crying but I was bawling like a little baby. I apparently was having none of that either. He then carries me to the bedroom and I pretty much pass out. He said he checked my temperature again though and it kept dropping after whatever he did.
All I know is I woke up around 10 pm that night the baby was already snug as a bug in his crib and Jon jumped to alert when he heard me moving. I was thankfully more coherent that time albeit exhausted and still not well.
But I'll remember this because Jon then says to me, "Don't ever scare me like that again! I thought you DIED. The baby was wailing and you didn't hear him. I was SHOUTING your name and you didn't... I was panicking, thinking I might have to take you to the ER, or I might have to give you an emergency tracheotomy. I kept checking your tonsils to make sure you could breathe. You wouldn't hydrate yourself, you wouldn't go in the tub. You looked like you were dead! I had to put my hand on your chest to see if you were still breathing... I thought I lost you."
I'm ok now. No more fever here, thank goodness.
And I love my husband.P.S. Damn tonsils!
Labels: randomness, sickness
