Knocked for a six

I was too sick to blog yesterday. Bloody virus. First it took down the eldest, then I woke up at 2am on Wednesday morning thinking “ooooh, I don’t feel too good.”

The first place I feel these things is in my chicken injury in my sacrum (explanation: I once I did the splits on a slippery deck with a baby chicken in each hand … you probably still have so many questions …) It aches like nobody’s business whenever I’m out of sorts. DD thinks it’s total rubbish, but I swear it’s true. And it was aching up a storm on Wednesday.

I was supposed to finally get my broken driver’s side window fixed on Wednesday. It’s been such a blast spending months waiting for the part to arrive … opening the car door 500 times a week to buzz myself into my work carpark and the endless other carparks that require you to take a ticket to enter. But I had to cancel the service because I wasn’t well enough to walk home after drop off.

I worked from home on Wednesday morning before deciding to have a little lie down in bed and call my mum. Mum clucked a lot about me being sick AGAIN. I assured her it was just a minor illness, then promptly fell asleep, only to wake an hour later feeling atrocious. I huddled shivering in my clothes and fluffy dressing gown under the covers and slept fitfully for another few hours before sending an emergency text to the youngest to bring Nurofen and a thermometer.

The thermometer revealed I had a temperature of 38.6C.


At around 6.30pm the youngest had the horrifying realisation that we’d missed her rehearsal with the accompaniest – she’s doing her first-ever tenor saxophone exam on Saturday. Eeeeeeeek! I had to ring the ex and confess, as he’d organised it. Since I sounded like death warmed over he was very nice about it.

DD dropped over briefly that night on his way home from a work function to check I was going to live. He insisted on washing his hands before leaving and only hugging me from behind. He also said another 0.4C may have required a trip to hospital! Exciting!

Well, not really exciting, but it proves I actually was proper sick. I often worry I’m just a terrible hypochondriac.

I fell asleep at 9.15pm and woke at 6.22am on Thursday morning, which is akin to miracle for me. Soon after I heard footsteps in the hall and the youngest informed me she had the lurgy too.

So Thursday was spent with all three of us at home, kids in bed, me working from home on the computer (Thursday is drinks bulletin newsletter day … no rest for the sick or wicked), with a Chinese soup run at lunch time.

I had a thrashing headache and felt generally blerky, but it was a fairly dramatic recovery. Normally these things take me down for at least a week.

But I suspect we’ll all be home again together today as I tap-tap-tap away. The dogs are LOVING it.

I just wish I could be one of those people who don’t eat for a week when they get sick and lose 5kg.

Not me, my appetite has been voracious.

So. Not. Fair.

Song of the day: Jackson Five “Can you feel it?”

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