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Flu Part IV
Feb. 13th, 2008 06:50 pmAlso, I'm glad I don't live somewhere cold, that I have a kitchen, and that I don't have to take care of the kids while my husband is at work even though I have a fever of 103. (I don't actually have a fever of 103, I assume, but I did read this about someone else.)
Last time I remember being this sick was my freshman year in college. My friends forced me to go to the dreaded infirmary after I wouldn't eat my omelet. Saturday morning omelets were the one reliably fabulous meal each week.
The lady there said I could escape the dreaded infirmary if I promised to go straight back to the dorm, get into my pajamas, and get into bed and to drink a glass of water every hour. She said don't set an alarm, but if I'm awake, drink. I did this, except for once when a package came and I had to walk across campus to pick it up. I remember bringing little cups of water with me so that I could take sips of water while I was walking there to keep my throat from feeling so dried out in wintry Boston, and I had to stop halfway there to refill them.
I hated drinking water, though, because it tasted so awful. I would watch the minute hand on the clock, hoping I'd fall asleep before it was time to get another drink of water. I also clearly remember fantasizing about eating a taco. I fantasized about each and every bite of it.
I don't know why everything tastes different and wrong sometimes when your sick. I've heard it's because you're stopped up and much of tasting really comes from smelling. Well, I can often still smell just fine, but that doesn't keep everything but chicken broth from tasting nasty.
And tea. I'm not a big fan of tea, so I have low expectations. But it's a much nicer way to get water down than drinking straight water. It tastes slightly better and it's nice and hot and keeps me from coughing so much.
I didn't bother trying to do anything productive today.
Last time I remember being this sick was my freshman year in college. My friends forced me to go to the dreaded infirmary after I wouldn't eat my omelet. Saturday morning omelets were the one reliably fabulous meal each week.
The lady there said I could escape the dreaded infirmary if I promised to go straight back to the dorm, get into my pajamas, and get into bed and to drink a glass of water every hour. She said don't set an alarm, but if I'm awake, drink. I did this, except for once when a package came and I had to walk across campus to pick it up. I remember bringing little cups of water with me so that I could take sips of water while I was walking there to keep my throat from feeling so dried out in wintry Boston, and I had to stop halfway there to refill them.
I hated drinking water, though, because it tasted so awful. I would watch the minute hand on the clock, hoping I'd fall asleep before it was time to get another drink of water. I also clearly remember fantasizing about eating a taco. I fantasized about each and every bite of it.
I don't know why everything tastes different and wrong sometimes when your sick. I've heard it's because you're stopped up and much of tasting really comes from smelling. Well, I can often still smell just fine, but that doesn't keep everything but chicken broth from tasting nasty.
And tea. I'm not a big fan of tea, so I have low expectations. But it's a much nicer way to get water down than drinking straight water. It tastes slightly better and it's nice and hot and keeps me from coughing so much.
I didn't bother trying to do anything productive today.