In which she has a cold
Jul. 25th, 2009 08:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zeborahI'm now going to whine about a universal human experience as if it were mine, mine alone, and far more important than anything else in the world. Because that's what LiveJournal is for, right? Right.
So the sore throat thing, where the tonsils keep getting in the way of swallowing, that was annoying. The mild fever I didn't mind so much, partly because it makes for truly cracktastic dreams. Alas, I've forgotten them all now but they were cracktastic at the time. Otherwise it's been a fairly boring cold, and I would have gone back to work on Thursday if it weren't for my New Year's Resolution, based on past experiences, to always take off one day more than I think I need. So I would have gone back on Friday if it weren't for a colleague mentioning that they were planning for my absence and for the revelation, when I woke briefly in the night, that if a brief errand to the mall and reading Half a Crown could leave me as exhausted as it had, then probably I wasn't yet as well as I thought.
But, all in all, getting better. Except last night I reached the point where everything starts going downhill again: I got bored of drinking.
The thing is I don't normally drink much liquid. I make an effort when I'm sick: I keep juice in the pantry which I'm only allowed to drink when I'm sick, so that it's an interesting novelty; and then there's soup and so forth. But after three litres of apple juice and a can each of tomato and chicken soup, I'm bored again. Cordial? A glass each of two flavours cold, a glass each of two flavours warm, and I'm bored. Milk? Done that. Water? If I have to. Ginger beer? Not so much a treat as usual. Lemon and honey, hot chocolate? Way too much effort. Bored.
The other thing is that this is the point where the cold has travelled from my throat both south to settle in my chest and north to block up my nose.
Being fully hydrated would mean my nose would be less stuffy. If I could breathe through my nose, I wouldn't be losing so much moisture by breathing through my mouth. I never managed to get through more than a chapter of that "Catch 22" book, but clearly my dilemma is more dramatic than theirs.
No, seriously. Breathing through my mouth means not being able to get to sleep for an hour, and waking up quarter of an hour later. Rinse and repeat all bloody night, with interruptions for:
And then about 7am the cat demands to be fed, or possibly to be strangled; she's being a little ambiguous on the point this morning.
And then about 7:30am the sun's coming up right and proper and I feel the need to unleash my petty torment and suffering on the world. Because this is LiveJournal and I can.
Dear world: Quit making me fight for my oxygen. That stuff's mine by rights I tell you.
So the sore throat thing, where the tonsils keep getting in the way of swallowing, that was annoying. The mild fever I didn't mind so much, partly because it makes for truly cracktastic dreams. Alas, I've forgotten them all now but they were cracktastic at the time. Otherwise it's been a fairly boring cold, and I would have gone back to work on Thursday if it weren't for my New Year's Resolution, based on past experiences, to always take off one day more than I think I need. So I would have gone back on Friday if it weren't for a colleague mentioning that they were planning for my absence and for the revelation, when I woke briefly in the night, that if a brief errand to the mall and reading Half a Crown could leave me as exhausted as it had, then probably I wasn't yet as well as I thought.
But, all in all, getting better. Except last night I reached the point where everything starts going downhill again: I got bored of drinking.
The thing is I don't normally drink much liquid. I make an effort when I'm sick: I keep juice in the pantry which I'm only allowed to drink when I'm sick, so that it's an interesting novelty; and then there's soup and so forth. But after three litres of apple juice and a can each of tomato and chicken soup, I'm bored again. Cordial? A glass each of two flavours cold, a glass each of two flavours warm, and I'm bored. Milk? Done that. Water? If I have to. Ginger beer? Not so much a treat as usual. Lemon and honey, hot chocolate? Way too much effort. Bored.
The other thing is that this is the point where the cold has travelled from my throat both south to settle in my chest and north to block up my nose.
Being fully hydrated would mean my nose would be less stuffy. If I could breathe through my nose, I wouldn't be losing so much moisture by breathing through my mouth. I never managed to get through more than a chapter of that "Catch 22" book, but clearly my dilemma is more dramatic than theirs.
No, seriously. Breathing through my mouth means not being able to get to sleep for an hour, and waking up quarter of an hour later. Rinse and repeat all bloody night, with interruptions for:
- Waking up in a blind panic at 2am because my mouth is so dry it's set like concrete, tongue and all, and I can't-- Well, once I'm *fully* awake I'm not sure what it was my half-awake self thought I couldn't do, but it was something as fundamental to human existence as breathing and it was pretty damn scary that I couldn't do it.
- Waking up at 6am exhausted because in my sleep I want to close my mouth but then I can't breathe and it takes my brain a moment to realise I need to open my mouth again, rinse and repeat every few seconds. (Dear immune system: sleep apnoea is not an effective weapon against viruses. I'm just sayin'.)
- Letting myself have a bit of a weep because yes, I'm that tired, and then suddenly thinking, "Oh damn. Weepiness -> mucous production -> not helping with the blocked nose thing."
- I'm also coughing, but that might partly be because oxygen-deprived sleep interferes with the training I've given myself to reach for the asthma inhaler when breathing through my lungs becomes awkward.
- I'm dutifully drinking cordial and necessarily going to the bathroom. Five times in an hour and a half. Shut up, this is LiveJournal, I'm allowed to say things like that.
- I'm having really cranky dreams. (Dear family: You were in several of my dreams last night and I feel you should apologise for the way you treated me in them. Especially the thing with the corn.)
And then about 7am the cat demands to be fed, or possibly to be strangled; she's being a little ambiguous on the point this morning.
And then about 7:30am the sun's coming up right and proper and I feel the need to unleash my petty torment and suffering on the world. Because this is LiveJournal and I can.
Dear world: Quit making me fight for my oxygen. That stuff's mine by rights I tell you.
