I’m not dead.

There were a coupla points, ‘long around Sunday night, where this did not seem like much of a consolation, mind you. But nevertheless, the fever appears to have broken, and despite being fairly congested, and feeling as if my head was swathed in gauze, I’m definitely on the road to recovery.

Earlier today I coughed up something the size of a mouse head,* but that disturbing experience aside, cough is nearly gone, and my lungs have been pretty clear through the whole illness. James has not been so lucky and still has a lingering cough, but is otherwise more recovered than I am. Neither of us appear to have contracted pneumonia.

The worst bit for me was the fever, which went hot-cold-hot-cold and then for variety went to hot AND cold, so that my face was on fire and my thighs were encased in ice, simultaneously. And there was no sleeping through this, even exhausted, although somewhere late at night, I fell into something about halfway between dreaming and hallucinating, which wasn’t restful but at least passed the time. Fortunately, this only lasted through the first night, and after that it was just mild fever and general malaise, plus a headache like a mule kick.

Tomorrow, I hope to actually do some work, although I’m taking it easy and not leaving the house–I need to get caught up on Digger, which of course did not get done while I was curled in fetal position shivering. But for now…jello, Robin Mckinley book, couch.

*I considered that this might be too disgusting for the readers, and then I thought “Lumpy?” and that a mention of a zit up my nose garnered like forty-odd comments, and figured “Naah…”

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