My entry into the new year was very anticlimatic. It was below anticlimatic. The floor was understaffed due to a code green in the emergency room, so I had to go into work four hours early, doing a 13.5 hour shift that was probably the catalyst to my illness.
On New Year’s Day, after that horrific shift, I caught a glimpse of myself in the car mirror and my face was literally green. Any evidence of life was drained out of me. That night I curled up into the fetal position to ward off bodyaches and a cough so persistent that I ended up vomiting all over my blanket. It had been years since the last time I vomited (that didn’t involve alcohol). I was partly bewildered and partly amused because it seemed like such a childish thing, to vomit in bed.
From what I can understand of my Vietnamese-French doctor (her accent is so strange), she put me on antibiotics, codeine and an inhaler. Got an excuse note to be off work this weekend (yay), but pretty much losing half of my income for this payperiod (meh).
Last week I scored a teal yoga mat for $20 (originally $70), and am aching to go to bikram, but that could be considered a form of bioterrorism in my current condition. Back in the corner you go…