Cold and flu season

All last week, I felt run down, exhausted. I had obligations away from home every day, which is unusual for me, and the nights have gotten chillier, and I was stressed about Nada's potential anemia and the work I'm doing for the campaign and the work I'm doing for pay and several other things. So I thought I really just didn't have the energy to do it all.

I was so tired that I lay down in the middle of the day, reading or napping, in order to have the energy to get back up and do a fraction of what I'd planned each day. That wasn't promising; I couldn't see how I'd possibly accomplish everything if that was my new normal. I feared that my lack of energy was permanent, a physical response to psychological pain.

On Thursday, a cold or flu -- I'm still not sure which -- swooped in and hit me hard. My first reaction was relief. Illness meant recovery, which in turn meant I would again have energy some day. Hallelujah.

Bet you anything I made that cup of tea for her. Roo would
sit quietly next to Sandy until her guard was down, and then
she'd stealthily work her way between Sandy and whatever
she was reading, wanting to be on her chest. In this photo,
she's clearly getting ready to make her move!

Misery quickly replaced relief, and self-pity crowded in there, too. I hadn't been planning to get sick, and wasn't set up for it. I had expected to buy groceries on Friday, but didn't feel up to leaving the house. I was out of kitty litter. I ran out of my slippery elm tablets on Thursday and nearly exhausted the single bag of Ricola's that was in the house. Every time I wanted a cup of tea, I had to wait for the water to boil, and then wait for the tea to steep, all the while shivering and sneezing and wishing I were back under a blanket.

I really wanted Sandy.

At the same time, I was glad that I wasn't disturbing her as I sputtered my way through Thursday night, achieving only a couple of hours of sleep. Friday night was better -- not great, but better -- but then by Saturday night, the coughing had set in and I slept only a few hours again.

I was glad that I didn't have to worry about passing my illness to Sandy. Typically, one of us would get sick and the other would go stock up on the necessary supplies, taking care of the first one until we were both ill. There'd be a short period of overlap, but then the first one would be well enough to take care of the second. A couple of times, we did that multiple times, passing the same germs back and forth.

We were very careful when she had metastatic breast cancer, alert to the risk of illness. And both of us were on supplements and diets to boost our immune systems. From the time we learned of the cancer to the moment she died, neither of us had a cold or flu. I've had a few in the fourteen and a half months since then. I have the same diet, same supplements, that I had before - but grief is hard on a body and I'm not nearly as motivated to stay well, apparently.

At the moment, I'm underslept, but my energy started to return in earnest today. I got some work done. I showered and dressed in fresh clothes for the first time since Thursday, and thus began to feel more human. Walked to the library to return books that were due, to the pet store for kitty litter and food, to the co-op for groceries and lozenges and healing teas. I carried cough drops and tissues and a water bottle with me on my outings, but managed to walk a few miles, converse with several people, and carry reasonably heavy loads without a single cough or sneeze or nose-blow. That's a good sign, I think.

I'm tired now. My head has felt heavy for the last hour, and I'm savoring that feeling, hoping it translates to good sleep tonight.

And I still really want Sandy.