Adventures in the Life of Beotch

Sunday night I was delirious. My heart raced the entire night. I alternated between sweating profusely and shaking under a down comforter in a room that reaches 90 degrees when the door is closed and the vent is fully open. I panted and thrashed and yelled out weakly for my mom who was in the next room but couldn't hear me because my voice was so soft. I thought about getting out of bed to do... something, what I don't know, but just decided against it. I was so whacked out of my mind that I just laid there, and thought about my death, which must be imminent. Or I thought about how I would probably wake up in a hospital. And who would come visit me? What would happen to my cats? Would school still let me sign up if I was in a coma? My heart was beating so fast, it didn't occur to me to take my pulse, but it went on for hours. The bed smelled like dog. If the clock hadn't been blinking instead of set to the right time, I would have stared at it praying for 6:45 to come and my mom to wake up and knock on the door and find me prostrate and take me to the hospital.

So yeah, that sucked.

In my delirium I uncontrollably imagined The Sopranos, all night long. I kept commanding "STOP!" to myself every time I would find myself believing I was a cast member. I would make up scenarios, wonder if Adriana is going to get whacked for talking to the Feds, and decided that I predict the show will end, when it is over, with either Tony or Meadow getting killed at the other's hand. The most amusing thought I had (amusing in retrospect, that is) was something like, "shit. I wonder if they know I have been watching this, and are going to kill me because I know too much."

Sigh.

Monday was almost as pleasant. I spent it at the emergency room being poked, prodded and manhandled by the same ER doctor who poked, prodded and manhandled me three weeks ago without ever giving me a diagnosis. Back then, it was either strep or mono. Strep test came back negative. This time, I had a mono test. Not the case. I got a nebulous diagnosis of "severe glandular infection" and the doctor prescribed some crap that I have to take four times a day.

Let me explain how unpleasant this is. My head is currently fixed at 15 degree angle, with my head bent forward about an inch. I can't move it. To do so feels like someone hit me full on in the neck with an iron barbell. The rest of my head is so stiff from being in this position that the muscle are shaking and stiff and I have a constant, incredible headache from my eyebrows being furrowed from the pain.

Not only that, but after never having a reaction to a drug in my life, the medicine the doctor prescribed made me throw up. FIVE times. I haven't eaten anything since Saturday because I can't open my mouth, and I can't swallow, or else I have the barbell in the neck feeling. I also can't sleep, or... couldn't sleep until my mom busted out her stash of Vicodin last night. I've been feeling better since then.

The only reason I'm writing this is because I think stoicism is overrated and I have to sit here, painfully sucking yogurt through a straw so I don't throw up from taking the medicine again.

M. has been calling to check on me, though, which has made me feel something. I'm not sure what. Happy isn't quite the word, I do feel cared for but that's not it... I don't know. It feels like having a counterpart again. I love him. That's not anything new, but this all just feels weird to me. I thanked him for calling me tonight, because it wouldn't have made my night worse if he didn't but it definitely made it better that he did. He said, "I had to." I croaked "why?" He said "I miss you and I want you to get better."

[Glandular malfunction]