Oooooooooooooh, the bug has bit. Influenze type B, secondary bacterial infection, croup! Went to doc who did blood tests, he's so cool, won't give antibiotics for a virus. I knew I didn't feel too good, but didn't know I felt THAT bad. Too much cell phone stress, late nights doing websites and blogs. Oh well, its FUN.
Two shots, cough syrup, and a one-smack antibiotic dose, a nap, and I think I feel better. But I haven't been out in the cold and wind for the last 6 hours either.
Flu, bronchitis, and other named and unamed illnesss have turned our workplace into an infirmary. Yesterday I sent a gal home who looked like she was going to slide under her desk, and she had "Community" pnuemonia. I think that's a new medical term for pneumonia contacted in a mileau in a workplace. We probably should have the building shut down, and have someone come in with in protective gear to sterilize the place.
I have been craving comfort and artichoke hearts, turnip greens, romaine lettuce, (anything GREEN) and homemade chicken soup which I am too ill to make.
Comfort memories move up into the mystical electrical paths in my brain and come floating in gently and almost work as a substitute for the lack of people around me in the here and now. As a child when I became ill, my Mother would bring me lemons and salt, and monster comic books. Grandma would throw one of those old remedy "mustard plasters" on you and only but the most entrenched lung problem would RUN. To treat fever, Grandma would turn up the heat to 85 degrees and bundle children and grandchildren in blankets. Then the sweat would come, and the illness would leave. Sometimes I really miss her. I miss sitting in her tiny kitchen with homemade curtains and smelling the familiar smell of "Grandma's house." She could make a meal appear out of nowhere when company showed up. Even one grandchild would qualify as "company." The food usually was good ol' Southern cooking - fried chicken, mashed potatoes with lumps, the best white gravy in the universe, leaf lettuce from the garden slightly wilted with "bacon grease." Often a home made pie was there too. Grandma made the good kind of pies, using lard in the crust. Oh, yeh, cholesterol, but how did she live to be 102?
In a fit of nostalgia, I mentioned to my younger daughter that I would like to teach pie making classes. Her answer, "What on earth for, when Walmart is around the corner?" Well, she had a point, but I really think the "for" is to be measured with the love that puts the home made pies together. They might taste the same. But doesn't the extra love make them taste noticeably better? I like to think so.
And my Grandma always did the best thing that Grandmas do. She loved me unconditionally, always, as I love my grandchildren.
Speaking of "comfort," am going to go crawl under that down blanket and maybe sweat.
Hmmm, now I am wishing I had someone here to baby me a bit!