So, remember when I said I was sick last week?
Cold and flu season always hits me hard. I just don’t have the constitution for it. I eat healthily, I stay hydrated, and I take my vitamin pills — but every time those germs come rolling around, I’m a wreck.
This week, though… oh boy.
Well, I just got worse, and worse, and worse.
I shuffled into my day job on Monday morning, and I barely managed 30 minutes before I threw up in the rubbish bin. My colleagues kicked me out of the office, and told me not to come back until I was feeling better.
I felt a bit better by Wednesday, so I crawled into the office again. This time, I managed a full hour before I threw up.
I was on the floor, my stomach was crunched, and I was exhausted.
Eventually, the convulsions let up. I stood up and took a deep breath to clear my head.
Well… I tried to take a deep breath.
My throat had swollen and clamped shut. I started to panic and gasp, but my lungs were locked down.
Immediately, I was drenched in sweat and my heart was pounding. I tried calling out to my colleagues for help, but I couldn’t exhale. I staggered forward. The room was spinning. I tried again to shout — and this time, some breath escaped.
By now, my eyes were blurry and my brain was foggy. The next thing I remember clearly was being hunched over outside the office, throwing up into the grass, while the guy — my saviour — who dragged me outside, asked if I’d seen my doctor yet.
See, while I thought I was just suffering a really, really bad cold, I didn’t want to suck up my doctor’s time. But now? Yeah, I was gonna see my doctor.
I left the office immediately, and walked down to the clinic. My colleagues offered me a ride, or I could’ve taken the bus, but I barely made it a hundred metres before I had to throw up again. I’d rather do that on the pavement than in a bus or a car.
Anyway, long story short, a nurse checked me out as soon as I arrived. She diagnosed me with an upper respiratory tract infection, and signed me off work for a week.
So, I’ve been sitting here in my living room all week: taking paracetamol, drinking water, constantly coughing up mucus and occasionally not breathing.
And I’ve barely slept all week, too. I’m absolutely exhausted, but every time I nod off, my throat eventually closes up. Two or three times a night — every night — I woke up like a bolt of lightning hit me, absolutely drenched in sweat, and unable to breathe.
I’m weak. I’m exhausted. I haven’t touched my words this week.
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