I think my cold has finally plateaued, although that word infers a level of height when no such thing is true. Perhaps it would be best to say I’ve bottomed out.
Beginning Monday when I awoke feeling not quite right, each day this week has been progressively worse than the one before it. Today is the first day I don’t feel sicker than I did yesterday. That’s sort of a mixed blessing since I don’t feel better either, and I spent yesterday being so miserable that I wanted to OD on tranquilizers to see if I could sleep through the whole event. Not having such drugs in the house, I of course wasn’t able to test that hypothesis.
So today is another misery day. I’m glad it’s not more miserable than yesterday. Still, I’d be happy if I felt a bit better, a bit more alive and functional. All in due time…
My fear is this cold will interfere with my New Year’s Eve plans. It already has made clear I won’t be doing any drinking to celebrate the holiday (the idea of drinking turns my stomach right now, and add to that knowing alcohol would only make me feel worse and extend my suffering by dehydrating me). Unless I magically get much better between now and tomorrow, however, I suspect I will enjoy the holiday from the confines of home.
But at least I have a wee bit of new hope that I’m getting better—or at least not getting worse. Last night I slept a solid nine hours before waking this morning. I’d not slept more than a few hours at a time since Sunday night. That’s a promising sign, right?
And the feelings of disorientation and disconnectedness are not amplified a hundredfold today. Each morning this week has seen that kind of increase in all the ickiness currently plaguing me—headache, cough, runny nose, aches and pains, sneezing, sore throat, fever, chills, malaise, fatigue, and on and on the symptom list goes.
The worse part of it, though, has been the general feeling of floating between consciousness and unconsciousness, that bizarre, decongestant-induced, drugged-up-beyond-words sensation caused by major colds and the flu. In fact, I’ve not driven anywhere in two days because I wasn’t sure I could drive. And yes, that means I hadn’t had my Starbucks in two days, although the thought of it has done little for me until this morning when I finally made my way the one block to the coffee shop to get my morning dose. I couldn’t taste it or smell it, and the five minute trip wore me out such that I felt I’d just completed a triathlon. But progress is progress.
I do feel at least semi-functional today and do not have the excessive fever I’ve had since Tuesday. That’s fine by me. I have a load of laundry going but won’t push my luck in that regard. If I get that one done and feel like doing another, I’ll give it a try. I actually caught up on my blog reading today (I’ve ignored them since Thursday morning because I couldn’t focus on the computer screen or keep my attention from wandering aimlessly), hence not posting about Friday Ark until Saturday. That’s also why it took me so long to post anything yesterday, and even that—sitting in front of the computer for an hour trying to get a few things tossed up here—sapped every bit of strength I had. Afterward, I crawled back into bed and curled up with several of the cats while I moaned and groaned and wished for death’s skeletal hand to end my anguish.
At least today didn’t go downhill from there. If it had, I probably would have tried to gouge out my heart with a plastic spoon in hopes doing so would mean I didn’t have to feel bad anymore. As these things go, days like today generally mean the turning point, the watershed demarcating a decline into endlessly tormented affliction and the slow climb up from the abyssal depths of sickness toward normal life. I hope that’s where I am—turning the corner.