Categories: uncategorized
Date: 08 April 2004 18:05:51
Well, Tiddles still hasn't got it - although he'd now developed a rather odd looking rash down his right arm and leg. Hopefully an allergy - but what to? Probably to nursing duties. Yes, Smudgelet and I are still needing waiting on hand and foot (well, not really, but don't let on to Tiddles!). Did I mention this is apparently a ten-day virus? Smudgelet's on day seven and I'm on day four, so we're not doing badly.
I have to admit that the good bits of lazing around yesterday without the kids were good and it was definitely the best thing to have done to let their respite carer take them overnight, although poor Smudgelet was desperate for his mummy by the time they came home last night. In fact, it couldn't have been worse. I had felt progressively worse as the evening drew on, as you do, and had forced myself to stay awake for their arrival so I could put them to bed before collapsing into my own. I felt dire by the time the doorbell rang at 7... and there they were. Smudgelet was sat on the floor whimpering and refusing to move because he felt poorly and wanted his mummy to carry him (no way, Jose!) and Tiddles had, because of being worried about me and his brother, regressed into an over-excited three year old who bounced into the house and wanted to tell me everything they'd been doing in minute detail. AAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHH! The impatience overflowed for a bit, but then I was able to control it and get prayers said and tuck them both into bed, all the while longing for my own. Then, of course, Tiddles bursts into tears.
It took an hour of comforting to convince him I was not going to die. It's scary when mummy's ill, especially when you were taken away from one for ever, and your new mummy was away in hospital for six weeks just over a year ago. He was concerned about whether I would make him breakfast in the morning or whether he'd have to make it himself again, so I explained. Deep inside many mothers is a treasure box of strength. It's there as emergency rations. I explained that I could dip in it to make him breakfast if he really needed me to. I explained that I could dip into it to help me stay standing alongside his bunk bed and hold his hand if he needed me to, although I'd rather not do it too long as my head felt very strange. I even explained that I could use it to climb the ladder and give him a proper cuddle if he needed me to, but pointed out he'd probably prefer me not to as I was feverish and sweaty and rather aromatic! And do you know? I found it to be true! I was able to dip into those emergency rations enough to completely comfort and settle him while remaining vertical to do it, to cope with my state of collapse when I got out of the bath and get myself dry and dressed and in bed, to get up this morning and make him his breakfast. And I've kept lifting the lid of that treasure box and dipping in it throughout the day. Thank you God - yet again in talking to others I find the answer for myself too.
I didn't sleep well during the night. It was filled with the weirdest of dreams - including a massive row with a good friend whom I had to force myself not to ring today to apologise to! But the dreams were not the worst, it was the waking bits in between. I don't know quite what happened. It felt as though my whole body was wired, as though each of my teeth was a tiny drill-head spinning at great speed and sparking off its neighbours, as though miniature people were firing pins into my skin and then pulling them out again all over my body, as if my heart was beating sixteen to the dozen. Not nice. The worst thing was, fully awake, I sat up and checked my pulse because I was a little worried about whether the infection had actually affected my heart. And I couldn't find it. My pulse. Nowhere. Not below my jawbone. Not at my wrist. I know precisely where to check, so I just knew it wasn't there. I was dead.
My first reaction was: Oh no, I've let Tiddles down. I promised not to die tonight!
My second reaction was: Oh no! The state of the kitchen! My sister will go mad when she sees it and has to clean it all up before the funeral!
But my third reaction was far more rational and calming: I can't be dead, cos then I'd be in Heaven and I'm sure I would feel better than this. :-)
A quick check with the thermometer confirmed my deadness, though. Temperature below normal. Still not sure what that means. I decided against calling the emergency doctor, though, as they don't do house calls these days and I wasn't sure whether I was insured for driving while dead.