In a continuation from
yesterday, I am still sick. My 101.5
fever of last night breaks somewhere around midnight. I know this because I wake from sleeping and
finally feel warm. Not hot-flash warm
and not sick-warm, but no-chills warm.
I tentatively feel my
forehead.
Am I well? I seem to be okay. Can I
stand? Yup, no vertigo. Do I
have a fever? I grab the thermometer
to find out, and it beeps away at 98.6.
That’s it, I’m going to
work! Yippee! I open my mouth to speak (yes, I talk to
myself, don’t judge me) and … Nothing. Okay,
maybe not a total nothing, but damn close to nothing.
It’s all right, I reason,
because it is a half-day for the kiddos (a full day for me, chock full of an
afternoon sitting through a two-hour presentation by Kool-Aid Man). I am handing back papers and letting the
students play Apples to Apples today because they worked their butts off for me
this week in class and on state testing, and they all managed to get to a great
stopping point in the book we are reading.
Since it is a “no homework” weekend (for some, that’s like every day,
anyway), there is no way I am starting a new lesson with half-hour-long classes
before a long, homework-free weekend.
As soon as I get to work
and try to speak to my colleagues, they have two reactions. The first is, What the hell is wrong with you?; and the second is Stay the hell away from me before a holiday
weekend because I have a life and you don’t!
The administration thanks me for coming to work since substitutes
are rare creatures, especially before a holiday and doubly when they find out
it is a half-day assignment. Yes, we appreciate you coming in and
infecting everyone to save us money sounds good in theory until everyone
calls in sick next week.
The kids, on the other
hand, think my loss of voice is hilarious.
At the start of homeroom and every class, someone figures out what’s
going on and yells, “Ssshhhh, quiet, everyone!
She’s trying to TALK,” like this is some momentous occasion. Well, I guess it is. It’s a holiday for them since I cannot speak
very well. True to their nature, though,
each and every class has several students who not only wish me a nice weekend,
they say, “I hope you feel better soon.”
Aw, damnit. It’s so hard to dislike
these kids.
I’m still feeling
reasonably decent, so after the students leave, I head down to the teacher
lunch. It’s pizza, and I do love
pizza. Of course, no one wants me to
touch anything or breathe anywhere near them, so I ostracize myself like
Typhoid Mary. (Later, I text this to my
sister as “Typhoon Mary,” which also seems surprisingly apt.) One sweet teacher decides to sit near me
anyway so we can pass notes to each other during the professional development. I appreciate her sense of being invincible as
we sit through a two-hour blah-blah-blah presentation that is part three of
three by a speaker who not only has a horrid speaking pace (mwaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh,
mwaaaahhhhhhhhhh, mwaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh….), he also has a major speech impediment,
which is horrifyingly distracting.
Now, hold your horses. I am not
making fun of people with speech impediments.
I knocked my own front teeth out when I was around three, and it took
those suckers eight years to fully grow back in (crooked). I spent long hours with the elementary school
speech therapist practicing saying the letter S. The irony of this is that
my speech therapist’s name is Mrs. Sax. Go
ahead – say her name out loud. How many S-es do you hear?
Even early on, the
universe hates me.
I survive being Typhoid
Mary through the meeting, only once laughing out loud at Kool-Aid Man (because he
wants us to drink the presentation Kool-Aid, but we all know how that ends) when he says, “Strong
weaknesses.”
“Oxymoron!” I shout, but, without much of a voice, no one
really hears me. Damnit. The moment is lost.
I get home earlier than I
expect, hoping to catch my youngest son before he leaves for the weekend. Not that it really matters, anyway, as his
last words to me the night before are, “STAY AWAY FROM ME! YOU’RE NOT GOING TO TRY AND KISS ME, ARE
YOU? GO AWAY GO AWAY GO AWAY!” I totally feel the love. Alas, he has left early, most likely to avoid
being infected with the plague. After
all, I raised brilliant children.
I have some energy, so I
sweep yet again the patio and driveway of the errant maple whirlygigs and
multiple pounds of worm poop, sweeping them directly into the yard of the
owners of the offending trees. I try to
sit in the sun, but the sun goes behind a cloud, so I go inside. Then the sun comes out, so I go outside
again. Then the sun goes in, and so do
I. Then it comes out, and so do I. Then it goes in, and so do I.
This goes on like some
Laurel and Hardy routine until I decide to call it a day and sit on the couch. Next thing I know, it is two hours
later. Apparently, I have been texting
people in my sleep, and, when I wake up on the couch, I realize that I have
squished both my glasses and my phone.
Lord only knows who and what I texted with my armpit.
By the time my sister
texts me hours later, I am awake and semi-alert and able to coherently text her
back. My fever is only at about 99.8, so
I’m feeling like this is progress until I hack up a decent piece of lung -- you
know, one of those loogies that makes you sick to your stomach because it’s
just a huge mound of gelatinous goo.
Thank goodness I’m not actually talking (as if I can) to my sister, or
we’d both be totally grossed out.
Either way, there is a
wonderful silver lining to this whole illness.
I mentioned it yesterday, and I am pleased to confirm today that I have
now gone two entire days without a single hot flash. Oh, sure, I know this is Mother Nature
teasing me, but I count these blessings when I can. If only, if only, if only.
In the meantime, I’ll
continue to self-medicate and hope for the best. After all, I have an entire three-day weekend
to sit home and be ill while everyone else is out having fun.
