Wednesday, February 01, 2012

Lack of Sympathy

My dear spouse is almost never sick.  He is virtually never ever sick enough to stay home from work.

I, on the other hand, am a walking attack of plague and allergy.  For five days in a row, I have enjoyed a sensation like 10,000 tiny needle-footed ants walking over my body.  As you might imagine, this makes it exceedingly hard to sleep.  In fact, it keeps me awake through a dose of Benadryl that should fell a horse.  So I have been laying awake for three or four hours every night full of pain, exhaustion, misery, and frustrated rage.

And then Dr. S had the effrontery to be annoyed when I asked him to go into work a little late.  Because I didn't think I could take care of the children on three hours' sleep.

(I'm off to the doctor later so they can tell me to drink more water and moisturize.  Inevitably.  Gosh!  I surely DIDN'T THINK OF THAT MYSELF.)


  1. Eeeeee! So sorry this is going on. And boy do I hope the doctor actually fixes you, because even one day of what you describe would drive me mad. And I also hope your husband realizes what a toad he's being* calls in sick until this is over.

    *Please excuse me for calling your husband a toad. It just seems warranted.

  2. (It's okay. He was a bit warty that day.)

    They gave me drugs and it's... a little better... and I am MOVING TO THE SOUTH. Where there is no winter. Then I'll complain about the earwigs and black widows and chiggers and... Southerners.

  3. Darcy6:42 AM

    J--are you really moving south? Where? Please update!

    And, of course, feel better soon.


  4. Darcy: alas, I meant it only as a statement of intent.


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