Thursday, July 21, 2011

Little dogs and fever dreams....

I have tonsillitis.  I'm 53 and laid up with a childhood ailment that used to have the Dr. making a housecall to prescribe some bad tasting medicine and have me on a "chicken soup and gruel" diet as a little kid.  I think the toxic headache is the worst part.  Oddly enough, my throat isn't that sore, but my pathetic tonsils are twice their normal size, pitted with nasty spots, and there is nasty stuff oozing somewhere in the back!  UGH!  I wonder how long I've been cooking this tasty bug, and how much it has affected me over the last couple of weeks.  I'm stuffed full of Penicillin, loaded with Ibuprophen.  The aftertaste of the medicine has me remembering why some parents give their kids chocolate; to remove that taste from your mouth!  I have lost my appetite and sleep probably three hours out of every 6 in the day...  on the "plus" side, I've lost 5 lbs.... on the "minus" side, the house is a disaster zone.  I still have to drag my sorry butt into work, but I only have short shifts so I have been managing.  I have actually brought home Popsicles, ice cream and juice.  I actually miss gruel....

The fever dreams are the worst; mostly confronting all those people who I have felt wouldn't listen to me over the last couple of years.  When they say they are my friend, tell me in a conversational way that they will pick me up from work if I need them, take me out for a coffee, see me another time I look them straight in the eye in my dreams and tell them firmly that "we are not and will never be friends". But I have noticed that when I speak with them in my fever dreams I'm no longer screaming.  All the anger seems to be fading at last, and that is a comfort.

There is one constant in all of this, though.  Every time I lay my head down there is a small, furry dog nudging my hand and comforting me.  Every time I wake there are little button eyes looking at me, and a small doggy voice questions me so softly.... "arf"... The dogs stay close all the time.  Penny lays at my feet wherever I am - laying in bed, working at finding something simple to eat in the kitchen, sitting at my computer desk.  She sleeps quietly at the foot of my bed at night, coming for a hug and a tummy rub whenever I pat the spot beside me to call her.  Daisy lays in the middle of the bed, tight to my side.  When I lay with one arm tucked under my head facing the wall she is there at my back.  And Folly stays where he can see me, with his head on my shoulder, sighing in his sleep when he closes his eyes.  I realize that at this very moment of my life they are my greatest comfort.  Although I miss the companionship and conversation that comes with a good relationship I would not give them up for someone else.  We are a package deal.  I realize that the likelihood of me finding someone who will put up with my quirks as well as my three little ragamuffins (and my three cats) is slim to none, but at this point it isn't such a big deal.  I am coming to terms with the thought of living alone.  I know with the dogs I will never really be lonely.  I just need a little more balance in my day to day life.

I'm looking forward to finally seeing some summer... although I have to say all the rain we have had this year seems like another fever dream.  I want to pull weeds, pick fruit, open the windows and have the warm wind blow out all the funk.  I want to open my heart and let the warm wind blow out all the dust that I've gathered.  And I remember the words of the Dalai Lama... "when your life turns to dust, vacuum..." 

So it's time to take another orange pill, another yellow pill, another blue pill, another white pill... climb into bed and sleep until it's time to take another pill.... to recover slowly and beat this stinking, festering, rotten bug into submission.  Needless to say, once I have recovered enough I will be cleaning the whole place with a little bit of "javex" on every surface....  stupid tonsils... I hate you....

In the meantime I would like a caffe mocha vodka valium latte to go, please....  with a side of chocolate...

1 comment:

  1. Poor baby. Strep is awful. The one thing I think I miss the most about our now gone pets is the cat climbing onto my hip as I lay on my side sleeping. He felt so heavy and now when I close my eyes and think of him I can still feel the weight. They are such a great comfort.
    You write beautifully Tammy...or is it the fever talking.

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