I mentioned in yesterday’s post that I am sick. I think it’s dire. I think I might die. I don’t think gross exaggeration is a symptom of strep throat, so I’m pretty sure it’s as bad as I think. I began writing out my final wishes, but decided to leave one last blog post instead.
If I ramble, it’s probably the fever causing me to be slightly demented. If I have typographical errors, it’s probably the weakness in my limbs. If I have misspellings, it’s probably due to double vision. If I have grammatical errors, well, if I have grammatical errors please come to my home and assist me with my suicide.
I have been accused of being a bit of a baby when I’m under the weather. (By the way, the irony of the term “under the weather” is that the last three days I have been sick have been the nicest days weather-wise we have had in the midwest in months. You are welcome.) This may, in fact, be true. I am prone to moaning when I am ill, which drives my husband closer and closer to filing for divorce. I just want everyone within a 100 yard radius to feel my pain and to run to my side with chicken noodle soup, Jello water and a cool washcloth, like my mother used to do when I was a child. Is this too much for a probably dying woman to ask? Thus far, my moaning plan has not resulted in the desired effects. In fact, I find that it is yielding the opposite effect. I am being avoided – shunned, even – in my own home. I feel the pain of the lepers.
Tony Danza is on TV right now. Hold me closer, Tony Danza.
Aside of the general malaise, the throbbing headache I feel every time I have a raging coughing fit, and the chills, the worst part of strep is that I have lost my voice entirely. This certainly has made the moaning a lot less effective, as the moans now come out as a throaty sigh. One might think, then, that the loss of my voice might make my husband happy. However, I’m pretty sure the constant throaty sighs have driven him to plot my demise. He suggested last night that I have an extra antibiotic, 4 more ibuprofen, more cold medicine and a couple glasses of wine. Maybe I should go back to writing those final wishes. This is starting to sound like a Discovery ID channel investigation.
I haven’t really moved from my spot on the couch in days, which means I haven’t had the energy to shower for a while. Perhaps this, and not the attempts at constant moaning, is why I am being shunned. I would be more inclined to shower if I were going to have a viewing and a burial after my impending death. However, seeing that I simply wish to be cremated, I doubt it makes a difference. (I have chosen cremation basically because I don’t trust anyone to do my hair correctly after I am dead.)
To my sons… don’t feel bad for not being by my side, holding my clammy hands, proclaiming your love for me, even though I labored 14 hours with both of you, and even though I mothered you through strep and ear infections as children. No problem. I know you’re busy. To my husband….don’t feel bad for walking at least 5 feet away from the couch when you crossed through the living room this morning, or for foregoing a kiss goodbye for a wave. I only committed the rest of my life to you, so, yeah, no big deal. To those of you who say, “Gee, I wish I could have done something to save her…” don’t let that thought cause you grief forever. Maybe for, like, 35 years or so, but definitely not forever.
I think I need another nap. [Insert silent throaty moan here.] In case I do survive, can someone please bring me some Ramen noodles and a new toothbrush? Anyone? Hello?