Ladies and gentlemen, I could not even have my modest little retreat to Maine, to relax, unwind, and enjoy.
The first massage I have allowed myself in years had to be canceled because the therapist fell and injured herself. Not her fault at all, and if I ever go to Maine again, I will book with her again.
The ride up was fairly pleasant and less stressful than usual, because I drove us as far as Freeport. Hubby was not pleased, but my response was to ensconce myself firmly behind the wheel, proclaiming: "It's my birthday, and I'll drive if I want to." And so I did, peacefully and uneventfully, straight to the parking lot of Gritty McDuff's in Freeport, just in time to beat the madding crowds. I had a nice pint of Scottish Ale, some perfectly divine fish and chips, and a lovely slice of strawberry-rhubarb pie. After that, I was content to let hubby take over the driving, and broke out my knitting.
Stopped at a couple of favorite shopping spots and found some bargains, moseyed on up to the grocery store in Rockland, bought smoked trout from the smoked fish guy on Route 1, and were then seriously on our way to Stonington, arriving before sunset -- sort of a first for us. We had time for a nice dinner and a nice evening, and in the morning we went off for a few more shopping runs.
Mind, I'm not a recreational shopper as a rule, and neither is hubby, but there are a couple of places we never miss. Reny's. The Big Chicken Barn. And some other antique place on the way to Acadia that we call The Red Barn, even though that is not its official name. Even had time to stop at the co-op in Blue Hill for a few things, including the Tofurky Bratwurst I now so heartily regret, and a brief stop at String Theory to confirm that they were indeed having a Saturday morning knit-in. I was really looking forward to that, and to making a few yarn purchases, since they had some gorgeous new colors I couldn't resist. "But no," I thought. "I'll be good. I won't leave hubby waiting now, I'll just shop on Saturday."
But after a lovely day on Thursday, I began to feel a heavy-duty chill seeping into my bones and joints, and in spite of blankets, extra clothes, and the heat cranked, the chill lasted five hours. Unconsciously, I tensed a lot of muscles good and tight and tried to generate more heat, which didn't work, then started having horrible, intense heartburn that lasted from around 4:30 PM to 6 AM the next morning. It resisted all attempts to be quelled by Tums, and the joint pains got worse, and I went through a couple bouts of what I thought were hot flashes, and basically did not sleep all night.
Friday morning, it began to snow. The heartburn was gone by then, at least, but the pain persisted, and finally worsened to a point where every movement hurt, and I would spend an hour convincing myself that maybe it really wouldn't be so horrible to get up and go pee, but...it was. Every time.
Though I have never been a "not tonight, I have a headache" type of person, and one would think Mr. Sensitivity would know this after nearly twenty-six years, I -- well, I couldn't stand accused. It was more like, curled on my side in a groaning fetal ball accused.
He has cancer and is facing surgery soon. This was supposed to be a romantic weekend, probably one of the last for awhile. I could understand him being a little frustrated -- miffed, even. But could he really believe I'd rather be curled in a groaning fetal ball than playing hide the salami? I mean -- really!
I finally had enough strength to tell him just what I thought of that idea this morning, and he apologized, but what I want to know is, where are the flowers? Where is the chocolate? Oh, well, I guess one can't expect him to do something that has never come naturally to him. And I still don't feel like eating, anyway. I have consumed exactly 2 pieces of pizza (not on the same day), two yogurts, a couple of bites of muffins, a handful of cheez-its, a bunch of popsicles, and some ginger ale since Saturday. Oh, and water, so I can wash down the meds I have to take.
Hubby was all set to scrape me into the car Friday night and drive me home, which would have got us started well after 9 PM, but I refused to budge, hoping I'd be better by morning. I wasn't. So, we left a day early, and I had to eat the cost of the additional day that I was supposed to stay but didn't, and the ride home was the longest, most miserable 6-1/2 hours I have ever spent in an automobile. No knit-in, no yarn shopping, just a box of Nyquil tabs and a hope that the Nyquil would render me unconscious for most of the ride. This might have worked, if not for all the frost-heaves.
We got home at 6:30 on Saturday night, and excepting a visit to the doctor and a brief shower this afternoon (I could no longer stand the smell of myself), I have been in bed.
Nyquil, Tylenol 3/Codeine, and muscle relaxers do not begin to take the edge off the pain I was experiencing. Vicodin and a strong antibiotic are a more successful, if not perfect, combination. What we thought was intially a weird flu is actually pneumonia. It hurts to cough, so I've been avoiding doing so, but sometimes what must come up, must come up, whether we like it or not. Bloody lung mucus is really disconcerting.
I'm supposed to go back to work on Monday, but unless there is some miracle drug they haven't tried on me yet, I don't see how that's possible.
Ever had a charley-horse in the rib-cage? If you haven't, DON'T. If you have, I've felt your pain way more than I would have liked to today. Especially festive when it wakes one from a Vicodin-drenched sleep at 6 AM.
I hope there's some improvement tomorrow, 'cause if not -- well -- it's good thing I don't have an obliging friend with a shotgun...
End Rant. For Now.