I suppose if I can go back to work today, a mere 15 days after I last clocked out, TEN OF WHICH I WAS SICK, I should have the stamina to actually write something longer than a photo caption to accompany a picture taken on an iPhone and saturated & blurred to shit with two free photo Apps (Mill Colour and PS Mobile if you were itching to know).
It has been an epic illness. I feel like my body was like, "Right, you wanna gloat about your time off and have an excellent Christmas with everybody you love and then go to the Island and have the greatest time at a party consuming no less than A) 4 flavourful cocktails plus the leftovers of Jen's who doesn't like coconut, B) peat Scotch swigged from the bottle standing half in the street and half in a car, C) a hit of moonshine (!) from a flask, D) 4 tequila shots (2 were yours, 2 were for Alexis who owes you large time) and then belt out 'Part of Your World' from The Little Mermaid, and yell lines from the Colin Farrell sex tape, repeatedly figuratively shit your pants because of the amazing conversations you're having with people you haven't spoken to in a long time, and generally nearly explode from good times, the next day YOU.ARE.DEAD."
Sure enough the night of the 28th, halfway through an episode of Dexter and a peeled-down-to-the-pulp-sacs mandarin orange, I felt that sudden whoosh of limbs being simultaneously sore, loose and on fire. Head a little puffy, throat a little knifey, but hey, this is probably the dregs of the hangover I deserved right? Oh man. We eventually had to leave Vic and come home so I could sleep in my own bed where I wouldn't wallop Nuv with zombie arms or drool deep down into his ear canal. It was Sudden Death Beast Wars sleeping with me; one night I even snored. This has never happened.
The fatigue and malaise and coughing hitchhiked with me back home and into New Years Eve. We had some people coming over so I showered and changed into actual people clothing, a change from my sick uniform of A) Tank top instead of bra B) XXL Superhero T-shirt belonging to Nuv C) Oversized grey puffy sweatpants/track pants hybrid originally belonging to Jay, then Nuv then me D) Slippers that are like indoor purple boots that Nick thought were just regular socks and got all concerned from across the room at how swollen my feet were E) No makeup F) No scented body wash or body lotion because the last one I wore when extremely sick turned my stomach smelling it later G) A brown XXL Foot Locker hoody hand me down from Jay and H) Poorly done but good intentionedly shaved legs. Basically there was a stunner all up in this apartment and her name was me.
At about 10:30 pm, my left contact started to get itchy and irritated. I looked in the mirror and my eyeball was crazy paint sample white. Put some drops in it and sat back down, waiting my turn to play Wii Resort. It got worse so I went to check on it again and the inner part of my eyeball, where sleep gathers at night, and mascara goobs gather by day (WARNING - IT'S ABOUT TO GET GRODY IN HERE. IF YOU LIKE PUDDING, DO NOT READ ON) was overflowing with gelled green pus. I HAD BEEN TALKING TO PEOPLE. WITH EYE PUDDING. BLARGH.
I took my contacts out, swiped the eye clean every 3 minutes, oh the amount of goo capable of working itself out through YOUR EYE, and consulted Dr. Google. (Carefully. When you punch in "eye" and "pus", you know the accompanying visuals to any article you pull up are going to make eating for the next week an exercise in concentration) I worked out that it was basically my cold bopping on up to my eye and I actually had drops for it from like a year ago, which is totally safe and fine to do. They're just eyes, right? Totally replaceable after a fatal expired medication experiment.
So, midnight comes as I’m laying holding a compress to my juiceye in bed, and Nuv, sweet boy that he is, still gave me some sugar even though I was a leaky shitbag. I watched Julie & Julia, made sure to not touch my other eye, lest it too get junked, and passed out. Sober. On New Years. With a washcloth and so much pus in my body it chose my eyehole to escape.
Woke up the next morning with BOTH EYES SEALED SHUT WITH PUS GLUE. I’m sorry, this is making me laugh, because seriously, FUCK. I took a hot shower and was able to see again, but had to use my previous rx eyeglasses (awesome choice!) to see for the next few days.
And then the cough got worse, the throat got more sore, the ears started popping like I was landing an airplane every ten minutes and then we had literally six boys sleeping in the living room over the weekend while I “moped” around, unable to clean, cook, or make myself look like a girl worth marrying at all.
What I did do – napped like a nana, sweet little delicious, “Oh hey I’m tired, I’m just gonna put this down and ssssssssssnnnnnnnzzzzzzzzz,”; ignored all the chocolate in the apartment because my taste buds were lasered off somehow, but still didn’t lose 30 pounds like everybody else claims to when they’re sick for this long; watched the first season of Breaking Bad and was simultaneously entertained & horrified; downloaded all the episodes of Modern Family that had aired and laughed hard and long (It’s SO good); and made some grilled cheese sandwiches that tasted crunchy and hot and that’s about it.
It was (and is – my throat is still a little bigger than it should be) the most epic illness I’ve had in a long time. I figure I’m good (and OWED) for a couple of years of amazing health now. Right body? RIGHT.