Not Dead Yet

It's still whiney old me here, no real change, except that I'm getting fed up with this whole thing. Not going to work tomorrow again; this damn whatever I have is eating up my sick days. I'm calling the doctor tomorrow morning and asking if he has no advice other than to wait it out, if perhaps he can refer me to a doctor who will actually look at what I've got and agree with me that Hey, that's not normal! and do something.

Excuse me a moment.
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I'm back.

So I'm going to whine some more, no comments today, please. I need to get it all out. I've gotten some of it out with my sister, who is a good listener, but is very insistent that I tell the doctor her three pet theories on what this could be. Okay. K is very supportive, but insists that I must DRINK MORE WATER, no matter how much it hurts to drink or eat. The Hubs is here and he put up the tree, so he's been his useful for the day.

Here's what I need to get out. I am not depressed (not that anyone here believes that) but I am becoming very emotional. I think it's a result of the fogginess from the donnatal and the lack of food. It's so hard to eat. (I just did, though, I had three soft-boiled eggs and two slices of toast.) I still feel weak, though.

Before I made the eggs, I had to go down to the basement for something. I had nothing to carry, as I almost always do when I go down there. All I have on my feet today is crocs, no socks or bandage supports or anything. I haven't gone down a flight of steps the normal way in about a month; I can only go sideways, or one foot at a time because of the tendonitis. Anyway, I said to myself, Just see if you can go down the stairs. I held onto the walls for balance and I walked down the stairs, slowly, but just like anyone else. When I got to the bottom, I started to cry, because I was so happy that I could walk down the stairs! I'm getting teary now just thinking about it.

Then I had the whole discussion with K about the water drinking, and I kind of realized slowly that she had left the room abruptly. I called upstairs and asked if she was angry with me and she said no, she was only worried about me, and I had stopped answering her -- I didn't even realize that -- so she went back upstairs. When I had determined that she wasn't mad at me, I cried again, because I was happy. Again, misting up now, thinking about it.

I feel a little fragile right now, and still weak. I know I have to drink more, but I cannot drink plain water, I never could, it makes me want to throw up. As it is, I'm already feeling reflux from the whole bottle of iced tea I just drank, and now I'm going to drink another one.

Here's what I'm reading this weekend: Art Buchwald's Too Soon To Say Goodbye, which he wrote when he went into hospice and subsequently did not die. And odd choice, I guess. I just finished The Martian Child, empress and UD, which I liked very, very much. I think I need to read something funnier, or watch a funny movie. I don't know what.

Couch time.

P.S. Just after I posted, the Hubs came into the room and I vented and shared it all with him too. So that was good. A bit unexpected, but good.

WATCHING BACK TO THE FUTURE III :: ENTRY #1649