Fever

Fever in the morning, fever all through the night. 

I have the flu. Before you panic (because I know you worry about me), know that I'm fine. Really. It's already passing, and my main issue is that I have a chronic case of first-world-problems. But everything feels worse when you're not physically well, so this post is essentially a wine & whine. The difference is that I've swapped the wine with Dayquil, and I'm not audibly whining. Rather, I'm typing with a great sense of purpose. 

Bitch session? Is that what this is called? A giant list of complaints? A rant? Oh! I think it's usually referred to as a 'rant'! LET THE RANTING BEGIN! *The trumpets blare, and the crowd goes wild!*

Let me state for the record that we widows are perhaps the biggest complainers of them all. There. I said it, widsters. We are, and you know it. We may as well own it. Add in the suicide aspect, and you're not only capable of stopping just about anyone in their tracks, but people practically grant you free rein to say whatever you want. So why not take advantage?

I don't actually want to use the expression 'to stop someone in their tracks', as it usually includes the word 'dead'. I'm weird about expressions that allude to death, as they provoke unpleasant thoughts and images in my head, where all things icky and irrational reside. But at the moment, I can't come up with another idiom that expresses the same sentiment. 

Anywho, where was I.... Ah, yes. The stopping of people in their tracks when stating that I'm a suicide widow. This is a common occurrence for me. The more I talk about it, the better I'm able to handle people's responses, but you still never quite know how someone will react. I'd like to think it's clear that I'm pretty okay talking about being widowed by suicide, but in case you haven't noticed, I'm one of a small group of suicide widows who is fairly public about said status. I mean, how many other blogs by suicide widows are you reading? And I'm only just beginning to share the many bits and pieces of my reality. I don't take for granted that when I talk (write), people tend to listen (read). Sometimes I feel like some sort of enigma, but a fascinating one all the same. 

That said, please enjoy (at least read all the way to the end) my rant (random stream of thoughts) while bored (I've already napped three times today) and home sick with the flu (my excuse to be cranky).

-My back hurts. 
-That soup wasn't even good, but I was too tired and achy to make it from scratch. 
-I have terrible breath. How could I possibly have to brush my teeth AGAIN? 
-Can dogs get sick? I wonder if Journey will catch my flu. He was sitting awfully close to me during naps #2 and #3 on the couch.
-Is it normal for your throat to hurt when you have the flu?
-What is the flu anyways? It's like they call any viral sickness with no explicit cause or concrete set of symptoms 'the flu'. And how is 'flu season' so long? It lasts like, four months. 
-Word to the wise: Don't go to Target when you have the flu. (Unless you're a widow, in which case you should be complainy and prideful and suffer through all things. Then you should blog about it, but I digress.) You'll get too tired and will need to sit down to take a rest. 
-This is all because they made me get the flu shot at the ER a few weeks ago for my carpal tunnel episode. I was too tired and uncomfortable to relay to the nurse my strict policy on not getting the flu shot, so I caved. Oh, I'm such a pushover! Go figure, now I have the flu. And carpal tunnel, which is basically code for 'wrist-pain-common-in-nerds-who-type-too-much'. Why can't I ever have any cool injuries? I've never even broken a bone. I'm just allergic to everything and have chronic stomach issues.
-I wish I had taken my temperature last night. It was definitely over 100. But I was too tired to get up and find the thermometer. Now I don't even have evidence or record of how bad my flu is.
-Why is it freezing in here?
-If Mark were here, he would get me medicine and anything I need to feel good, even though one time I had to actually send him pictures of Vicks VapoRub so he'd know what I was talking about...and then he didn't even end up finding it. 
-He'd also get me food. I still have no idea where he used to get that really good curry, and I will probably never know. No curry that I've had since he died has been as good as the one he used to bring home. I have a lot of unanswered questions since his suicide, but wondering where he ordered that curry from has taken up a shocking amount of energy and time. It was that good. 
-Mark actually really sucked at taking care of me when I was sick. He DID all the things, but he was fairly insensitive. That's what happens when you marry a Marine. They tell you to suck it up until THEY get sick, and it's as if the world is ending. Seriously, the man could have had a sniffle, and we had to stop everything to watch movies and rest.
-What I'd give to be able to laugh with him right now about the time I caught a stomach bug... I spent the entire day after Christmas on the couch with extreme nausea. He told me I was hungover, which was quite possibly a contributing factor, seeing as I drank a lot with his family the night before. (Apparently, Filipinos really like tequila and karaoke on Christmas.) He was no longer making fun of my 'hangover' when I finally threw up about a day later. Twice. Violently. He was floored and basically of no assistance. Thank goodness my mom was visiting and could help. I still had to put up with his hangover jokes until we saw his family again a few days later and his mom let us know that everybody had been sick and throwing up since Christmas. Ah HA! I really WAS sick! Take that, Mark!
-Thank you for reading that and letting me reminisce about things I can no longer laugh about with Mark.
-My back still hurts.
-Did you know a fever isn't really considered 'dangerous' until it reaches 107.5 in an adult? And this is incredibly rare. I know this from all my internet searching and self-diagnosing with all things that resemble the flu. So far, I've considered TB, meningitis and strep, but there's no telling just yet. It could be any strand of flu, and we may never know. Stay tuned for more chronicles from Dr. McGonigle.

I just fell asleep on the desk for about five minutes...

-I'm really going to have to love and trust someone again to let them take care of me when I am sick. 
-Everything huuuuuuurrrrts. 
-I took an epsom salt bath today, and it went wrong in all the ways. First, I thought I'd plugged the drain, only to return a few minutes later to realize that I had not, in fact, done so. Thus, all the water was going down the drain, along with the epsom salt. (I feel a little bad about wasting that water, but not about wasting the epsom salt because we have a LOT.) Then, once I got the drain to plug, I started to fill the tub with hot water and, oh, just a bunch of epsom salt. (How much are you supposed to use anyways?) When I put my feet in the water, I realized it wasn't just hot, but VERY hot. I then leapt out of the scalding liquid, got on all fours and straddled the tub. Naked. Why I didn't just get back out of the tub and onto solid ground is beyond me. While I turned the water down, I caught a glimpse of my naked self straddling the tub and realized, yet again, that I am completely ridiculous and thought, "This will make for an interesting blog post." (If you can't laugh at yourself, you're doing things wrong.) Finally, the water was at a temperature I could handle, and I cozied up with my book. After a page or so, the sound of water trickling down the drain fell upon my ears. Yes, it seems I still had not properly plugged the drain. (Is there another way to say 'plug the drain'?) I gave up and decided I'd just stay there until there was no more water left. This finally occurred when I had no more than three paragraphs left in the chapter. I tried to tough it out all the way to the end, but the fear that somebody might randomly walk in to find me naked and reading in a waterless tub and then ask, "Why are you naked and reading in a waterless tub?" was enough to shock me back into my usual state of not wanting to look like a complete weirdo. Alas, I got out of the tub and had to wait to finish my chapter. Yes, I know I could've just locked the door, but even more intense than my fear of being caught naked in a waterless tub is my fear of having some sort of medical emergency behind a locked door, making it a challenge for anybody to get to me and save my life, and THEN, when they finally knock the door down, being found naked in a waterless tub. 

I think I'll end on that note.