Just a little under the weather

I’ve been ill.  This past week all my stresses caught up with me.  At one point I couldn’t even move from my bed, burning with fever, aches and pains in every joint, and a thumping headache to match.  Blogging was out of the question. Breathing was hard enough…

But crochet I could.

And I did.

Behold, my Gumdrop Slippers, careful crafted.

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Someone needs to have a baby so I have an excuse to make more of these sweet things! 🙂

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P.S.  I’m pleased to report that I’m on the mend and have some exciting new projects in the pipeline!

Back in action!

Did you miss me? Well, I missed you! Come ‘ere and gimme a big hug. It’s been awhile!

Ah, now that we have that out of the way, it’s time for an update.

Half-term was hell. I had 2 sick kids on my hands while feeling pretty crappy myself. I spent last Saturday night hanging out in A&E with Zoie who spiked a temperature of 39.2C (approx. 103F).  A weary looking nurse gave me a syringe of Calpol to wrestle into Zoie’s mouth and told me to strip her down to her nappy. She then left us to sit there.

For 5 hours.

At about 1am I thought, screw this I’m leaving, and I bundled Zoie up and walked straight out of the ward. No one even noticed. Great. I circled back to reception and confronted the bored lady who had checked me in on our initial arrival. She gave me a blank stare as though she’d never seen me before in her life.

“Just let me back in,” I grunted.

I gave the doctor an earful when he finally appeared. No, I could care less that it is a Saturday night – slovenly, drunk teenagers shouldn’t be getting priority over a 16-month old burning with fever, they should be getting 2 Advil and a kick in the ass.

We were finally discharged at 2am with antibiotics  and a leaflet on how to bring down a fever. How helpful. I was out-of-pocket 29 quid for the round trip taxi ride and I’d lost her sippy cup somewhere along the way.

I remember when my Saturday nights were spent as one of those slovenly, drunk teenagers…

Nevertheless, I’m glad I took her in to be seen. There’s no substitute for peace of mind and I’m happy to report we are all on the mend.

It’s good to be back!

 

 

Under the weather

Emilie caught a cold. So she gave it to Zoie. Who then gave it to me. When I taught my kids about sharing, this isn’t what I meant.

Now my house is filled with a chorus of coughs. A symphony of sniffles. A frenzy of fevers.

The past two nights I’ve spent lying in bed with a hot, stuffy, sticky toddler on my chest. Dead weight crushing my lungs, pinching my bladder. The slightest movement on my part setting off ear-splitting screeches as she protested my right to breathe, swallow, think. I had a wedgie I couldn’t resolve for 3 hours. This, is the definition of self-sacrifice.

And  in between these fretful nights, I sat in class. My longest was a 6 hour stretch. Slumped in my seat. Straining my brain to focus on contemporary art, the film industry, Italo Calvino, huh? I subsisted solely on vending machine fare scavenged from the uni cafeteria during 15 minute breaks. Paprika flavored corn crisps, blueberry fruit bites, and frosty cold Dr. Pepper.  Wholesome delicacies.

Dinner came in the form of a tub of chicken yakisoba, slurped greedily on the 21.43 Southwest train service to Alton. Heartburn was par for the course. And when I lumbered into the house minutes shy of 23.00, my real work began. Shrugging off my coat and scarf, hurriedly taking a minute to pee. There were medicines to be administered, little people to soothe. The shower, she is a luxury.

And to ice the cake, is my own sore throat. A bitter, grating, I’ve-swallowed-razor-blades type sensation. Thankfully it has eased somewhat. Somewhat.

At the insistence of my mother (what would we do without them?) I took Emilie to the GP today to investigate the contagion cough. I sat on a squeaky plastic chair and prattled off a list of symptoms to a slightly flustered lady doctor with a flame orange bob and a pronounced mole on her chin.  She’ll never need to dress up on Halloween, I thought. One of those thoughts you have in a split second before filing it away to the back of your mind with the rest of the Thoughts You Can’t Believe You Had — like when you wondered what it would be like to make-out with one of the Hanson brothers…

So the doctor did the ear thing, the throat thing, the temperature thing, the take deep breaths thing. Asked about allergies and aversions. Thought for a moment. Consulted a book. Consulted her computer screen. Had another go with the deep breaths, removed stethoscope, inclined her head and concluded “chest infection” in a decidedly triumphant tone. She returned to her computer and tapped at the keys noisily.

“One spoonful, 3 times a day. And 2 puffs if she’s wheezing.”

That’s all well and good — spoons and puffs. But a little honey and lime and sunshine never killed anyone. The drab weather is the culprit, I’m sure of it. Me and the kids need to be on a beach somewhere. Soaking up some UV love. Could she use that fancy pad of hers to prescribe us some plane tickets home? We are island girls after all.

“It’s going around,” says the doc.

Doesn’t it always?

I gave a wan smile and thanked her. Downstairs I gathered up my sniffling, snotty offspring and we set off toward the high street pharmacy dreaming of palm trees, parrots, and pina coladas.