Recovery. but not the Twelve-Step Kind

I'm taking twelve units of short-term university summer courses. One simply does not skip class under such circumstances. I knew I had a fever because my eyes always burn when I'm feverish, as oppoed to when I'm merely hot because my parents, who are always cold, crank the heat up too high or don't turn on the AC. I used to think I was sick all the time, but I eventually learned the difference between being in a room too warm and having a fever.

Someday the giant and prolonged roller coaster ride known as the menopause will hit my mother. It will be very interesting to see just how that affects my parents' marriage. Will it mean that they'll need to live in separate ends of their house, with dual AC/heating units, and moving from one part of the house to the other will be like traveling from the North Pole to some island located precisely on the equator? Or will my dad learn to wear sweters and thermals all the time and just tough it out? The sad thing is that, at the rate my mother is aging, I'll be long gone before any of this happens and will only find part of the house comfortable when I'm visiting them.

Anyway, I developed a fever and some sort of illness that accompanied it. I didn't say anything to my parents because I didn't want to miss class. It was a rough day, and I did miss a decent portion of each class due to various gastroenteritic symptoms, but I was at least counted as present and got the gist of what was taught. I expected to be a little better the next day, but I was not. At some point in my final class I lost consciousness. I must have bumped the underside of my chin as I slid from my chair to the floor, because I split it open.

A student in the class is a paramedic when he's not taking classes, so he applied pressure to the bleeding on my chin and carried me outside into the fresh air. It took the maximum of my persuasive powers to convince the professor that I could go to the student health center as opposed to calling 9-1-1. Someone called my mom, and my chin was stitched up. My fever, which was 104.2 at that point, was attributed to a virus, but antibiotics were prescribed because of my history of lung infections.

As far as my parents know. and they're too busy to read my blog anytime soon, I did not become ill until I reached school that day. The health center banned me from campus until Monday. I missed one day of class, but my professors have been notified that it is not by my choice. I don't know about the other two professors, but the one in whose class I passed out and bled all over the place is probably perfectly happy to have been rid of me for today.

Yhe cough portion of my illness, which accompanies every illness I get no matter what are the other accompanying symptoms, started last night. (If I ever develop hemmorrhoids, coughing will be one of my symptoms. That's how consistent it is for me.) My dad finally gave me really strong stuff so he could sleep, because when I cough, it resonates throughout whatever building I inhabit. My dad said it was a good thing no one was in hotel rooms on either side of us, because they surely would have complained to the management. My dad switched the antibiotic from the one precribed at the health center to one that he thinks will be more effective. Antibiotic are basically good things, I suppose, but they often produce the delightful side effect of diarrhea. My life now is one of sheer bliss. I can't even cough in peace without worrying something else will happen as a chain reaction.

Matt, if you happen to read this, I posted comments to your posts. They may not make sense. I'm on drugs. When I'm over this illness, I'll probably be in need of a twelve-step program for detoxification purposes.