I counted the days. Fourteen. Soon, whatever this was had to leave me.
I'd had some bad flu-like bugs before. I remembered that once many years ago, something I caught had lasted nearly six weeks, from mid-November until the fourth of January. And then one morning, I woke up feeling better and it was finally ended.
This was going to do the same. I had no doubt, because everything always did....in the end.
I still had no fever, no respiratory problems, no sinus or throat symptoms. But I felt as if I'd been hit with the worst flu ever. My body ached, I felt shaky, nauseous, lightheaded, with a constant twinging over my right eye. I was drained and exhausted, yet horribly restless, and could barely keep my hands from trembling.
Something strange was happening in my neck too. Whenever I breathed out, my neck was moving involuntarily to the left. And my tongue was trembling. I couldn't control it. Particularly in the early morning, my tongue just jittered about.
Behind it all were those distinct sensations, difficult to describe, which happen on the first day of flu. Except usually, those sensations gave way in the days to follow, and in this case they were not shifting even a little bit. It was an endless feeling of the first day of flu.
Every morning after breakfast I visited the little cat I had to look after, who lived in the most splendid landscaped garden of more than two acres.
All I could focus on were the totally missed heartbeats, a constant nagging nausea, a feeling as if I was fading out of this world, a shaky scary restlessness, a sensation of having aged suddenly ten years in three weeks.
Where had the joy gone? I loved visiting Sally-Cat. I loved the beautiful garden. I couldn't even open my heart to it all any more. I couldn't appreciate the spring flowers.
I felt alien. Sick. Strange....and scared.
At Easter, I turned up as usual, to dish out cat soup and kibble, and listen to classic favourites on the radio. Part of me was desperate to pretend all was well, and followed Sally as she explored the garden......but now my legs felt like jelly. My head kept turning to the left.
Then I realised I was forming a "Plan B". The plan B was pretty simple if pretty gross; I was scoping out a "secret place to throw up".
In the stream? By the brambles? Surely not down the railway sleeper 39 steps, onto which I had so devotedly hammered chicken wire only last Autumn? Surely I couldn't throw up THERE? On my own creative work??
And not......certainly not....where anyone would see me.
Then happy children arrived, plus dog. Oh my gosh, where did they come from?
Easy. The house is rented out for luxury weekends. It's Easter. These are holiday visitors. I certainly won't be able to throw up now.
I am a magnet for children. I have no idea why. It might be my magical aura. But it always works just perfectly, unless one feels pretty dire and about to throw up.
They follow me around, bless their little cotton socks. The dog follows me around too. I am a magnet for dogs also.
Sally-Cat goes up a tree immediately. She hates canines. Getting her to stop yowling is adequate distraction at this point, but my legs are trembling and I feel a whiteness coming over my consciousness. (No -don't faint. It's likely the dog will pee on you while you're down.)
The children question me about all sorts.....from the location of Hawaii and the Marianus Trench , to next week's weather, while showing me their latest hair ornaments and Spider Man hoodies. Then they dash off on an Easter egg hunt.
I did my very best to keep a safe distance from them as best as I could. I told them I had a bit of a cold. I hope they don't catch what I've got.
Phew! Not going to throw up after all....perhaps.....
In the third week I could take no more. My usual bug-busting herbal remedies were having absolutely zero effect. There were moments....sometimes an hour, when I felt completely one-hundred-per-cent my normal self, before waves came back. What was going on I had no idea. It felt like being poisoned, with bizarre brief remissions like minute eyes of the storm where everything disappeared as if someone had flipped a switch somewhere off-stage.
In the third week, I visited the doctor. My heart behaved itself. He heard no skipped heartbeats. He found no swollen lymph nodes, and noted no fever. He saw no yellowness in my eyes, and my blood pressure was splendidly normal.
He took some blood to send to the Lab.
He suspected my water supply. Was I on well water or mains? When I answered that I was on mains supply, he shook his head.
Could I have listeria from the mouldy cheese weeks ago? He didn't think so, based on symptoms.
He told me my awful nausea, inappropriately interspersed with late night food cravings for food such as butter, canned sardines, anything salty.....rather reminded him of the first trimester of pregnancy.
Chance would be a fine thing -said I. I am sixty five years old and live like a Buddhist Nun. It would have to be some sort of immaculate conception.
The doctor could not process my symptoms or what was happening to me. Nothing fitted into any boxes whatsoever. He said we'd wait on blood results but meanwhile he was going to refer me to a neurologist.
"By the way..." I mentioned as I left, "...Chocolate makes me feel better."
I'd had some bad flu-like bugs before. I remembered that once many years ago, something I caught had lasted nearly six weeks, from mid-November until the fourth of January. And then one morning, I woke up feeling better and it was finally ended.
This was going to do the same. I had no doubt, because everything always did....in the end.
I still had no fever, no respiratory problems, no sinus or throat symptoms. But I felt as if I'd been hit with the worst flu ever. My body ached, I felt shaky, nauseous, lightheaded, with a constant twinging over my right eye. I was drained and exhausted, yet horribly restless, and could barely keep my hands from trembling.
Something strange was happening in my neck too. Whenever I breathed out, my neck was moving involuntarily to the left. And my tongue was trembling. I couldn't control it. Particularly in the early morning, my tongue just jittered about.
Behind it all were those distinct sensations, difficult to describe, which happen on the first day of flu. Except usually, those sensations gave way in the days to follow, and in this case they were not shifting even a little bit. It was an endless feeling of the first day of flu.
Every morning after breakfast I visited the little cat I had to look after, who lived in the most splendid landscaped garden of more than two acres.
All I could focus on were the totally missed heartbeats, a constant nagging nausea, a feeling as if I was fading out of this world, a shaky scary restlessness, a sensation of having aged suddenly ten years in three weeks.
Where had the joy gone? I loved visiting Sally-Cat. I loved the beautiful garden. I couldn't even open my heart to it all any more. I couldn't appreciate the spring flowers.
I felt alien. Sick. Strange....and scared.
At Easter, I turned up as usual, to dish out cat soup and kibble, and listen to classic favourites on the radio. Part of me was desperate to pretend all was well, and followed Sally as she explored the garden......but now my legs felt like jelly. My head kept turning to the left.
Then I realised I was forming a "Plan B". The plan B was pretty simple if pretty gross; I was scoping out a "secret place to throw up".
In the stream? By the brambles? Surely not down the railway sleeper 39 steps, onto which I had so devotedly hammered chicken wire only last Autumn? Surely I couldn't throw up THERE? On my own creative work??
And not......certainly not....where anyone would see me.
Then happy children arrived, plus dog. Oh my gosh, where did they come from?
Easy. The house is rented out for luxury weekends. It's Easter. These are holiday visitors. I certainly won't be able to throw up now.
I am a magnet for children. I have no idea why. It might be my magical aura. But it always works just perfectly, unless one feels pretty dire and about to throw up.
They follow me around, bless their little cotton socks. The dog follows me around too. I am a magnet for dogs also.
Sally-Cat goes up a tree immediately. She hates canines. Getting her to stop yowling is adequate distraction at this point, but my legs are trembling and I feel a whiteness coming over my consciousness. (No -don't faint. It's likely the dog will pee on you while you're down.)
The children question me about all sorts.....from the location of Hawaii and the Marianus Trench , to next week's weather, while showing me their latest hair ornaments and Spider Man hoodies. Then they dash off on an Easter egg hunt.
I did my very best to keep a safe distance from them as best as I could. I told them I had a bit of a cold. I hope they don't catch what I've got.
Phew! Not going to throw up after all....perhaps.....
In the third week I could take no more. My usual bug-busting herbal remedies were having absolutely zero effect. There were moments....sometimes an hour, when I felt completely one-hundred-per-cent my normal self, before waves came back. What was going on I had no idea. It felt like being poisoned, with bizarre brief remissions like minute eyes of the storm where everything disappeared as if someone had flipped a switch somewhere off-stage.
In the third week, I visited the doctor. My heart behaved itself. He heard no skipped heartbeats. He found no swollen lymph nodes, and noted no fever. He saw no yellowness in my eyes, and my blood pressure was splendidly normal.
He took some blood to send to the Lab.
He suspected my water supply. Was I on well water or mains? When I answered that I was on mains supply, he shook his head.
Could I have listeria from the mouldy cheese weeks ago? He didn't think so, based on symptoms.
He told me my awful nausea, inappropriately interspersed with late night food cravings for food such as butter, canned sardines, anything salty.....rather reminded him of the first trimester of pregnancy.
Chance would be a fine thing -said I. I am sixty five years old and live like a Buddhist Nun. It would have to be some sort of immaculate conception.
The doctor could not process my symptoms or what was happening to me. Nothing fitted into any boxes whatsoever. He said we'd wait on blood results but meanwhile he was going to refer me to a neurologist.
"By the way..." I mentioned as I left, "...Chocolate makes me feel better."
