Today I find myself rather poorly. I first woke after five hours sleep from the burning in my throat as I had suspected would assail me in the night. I swallowed the panadol I had prepared and heaved myself out of bed, assuming sleep to be beyond me. When I had boiled the water for my milo, I suddenly acknowledged my fatigue and switched off the light, tumbling back into bed without really realising what had happened. I woke some three hours later with the sudden urge to use the bathroom, and once again, drank as much water as I could to soothe the burning in my throat, and tried to sleep once more.
An hour or two later, I woke again, and lay there in the darkness, too tired to wake but too awake to sleep. Upon hearing noises in the kitchen, I climbed out of bed for what I presumed to be the last time, having rested enough to get on with my day. I greeted Mum and told her of my condition, and upon feeling my forehead at some half past eight in the morning, declared I had a fever. Indeed, I felt like, and I quote myself, “the crap a dead skunk makes after it’s been hit by a truck”. I was trying to find the words to capture how I felt, you see. I’d say I got close.
I stayed in the shower for anywhere between half an hour and an hour and a half, too dizzy to stand so sitting on the floor. I let the water become increasingly warmer as I seemed to get colder with time, and when I finally turned the tap off, it took me a number of minutes to crawl out and dress. Walking proved quite a challenge, but I managed to fling myself back into bed until my head stopped spinning. Unfortunately, it didn’t, and I lay there until my eyes closed.
For the next hour or so, my fever eased slightly as I passed in-between consciousness and sleep in a never ending cycle. I wasn’t quite awake enough to perceive what had really happened, and what I had dreamed, but I do remember Mum bringing me a fresh glass of water, two panadols and a milo. The pain eventually eased.
I’ve spent my day so far trying to find something that won’t make me dizzy. When I tried reading, I had to read slowly, taking in every individual word, about two and a half times as slower as I normally could. My body felt like it was slowly detaching itself from my mind, and I often had to re-read sentences until I gratefully rested at the end of the chapter.
I settled for being a couch potato- swigging water and watching Star Wars to avoid having to focus on anything else. Unfortunately, my attention wandered, but I was passing time. I now have a doctor’s appointment at 3:20pm, and I am desperately hoping he will give me some instant relief. My body seems to have been rebelling against me since this dreadful throat ache two days ago. My mind has a very limited attention span, and I can’t focus for long enough to make sense of very much. Dad says my breath stinks, but all I had was porridge for breakfast. I feel positively wretched, and hope that something ends it soon.
“So what can I do for you?”
“He has a sore throat,” said Mum before I could answer.
“Yes, I see. Anything else?”
“I had a fever earlier this morning,” I said quickly. I had the feeling he was just writing me off.
“Let’s take a look at you…”
After a short inspection, he said,
“Well…" he said looking at me seriously. "I think you have a sore throat.” I raised an eyebrow as best I could.
“You think so?” It had only been waking me up at night for the past few days… After a closer look, he realised it wasn’t a viral infection, but rather,
“Septic tonsillitis.” He showed my mother my inflamed tonsils and the white pus that had taken my throat as its abode. I was horrified when I reached home and confirmed what he said- it disturbed me greatly to know I looked that awful. I was prescribed medicine that worked the majority of the time it was used, and I’ll need to return on Friday to know if I’ll survive. Despite my objections to medicine, for the bacteria will eventually grow immune to it until we are forced to invent new medicines, I considered my pain to be slightly beyond bearable for the next few days, and acquiesced to accepting it.
I looked up septic in the dictionary, and it’s anything related to the presence of pus-forming bacteria or their toxins in the blood or tissues. It hurts to swallow, and especially to yawn. Speaking more than a few sentences at once made my voice raspy, and ultimately, I couldn’t get the image of my inflamed tonsils and the existence of that pus in my throat.
After a short nap, (well, two to three hours), it is now far easier to swallow. It still hurts, but at least there isn’t a lump in my throat that burns with a fire of a thousand demons. I am content for some reason after my nap. Aye, Eugene did stamp my shirt with his custom made “RANK” stamp, and aye, I did retaliate with my disappearing ink, squirting a line of it on his back, and aye, he did take the prank the wrong way and almost rip a fistful of hair out, but for some reason, I’m happy. Well rested and on the road to recovery, nothing seems to be overly troubling me. I wonder what I’ll feel like tomorrow when I’m plagued even less by this accursed “septic tonsillitis”. *smiles*
I originally wrote this as a diary entry (which I forced myself to buy this afternoon, groggy and “completely out of it” as I was) and not a blog entry, but I realised that with the length of it, I’ll never fit it onto a single page. So here it is in my space =)
To Ivy: You are, of course, entirely right. I have been a selfish brat, and have been taking you far for granted. No one should have been asked to take care of me as much as you did, and I am sorry to have put you through that. You truly are wonderful in every aspect of the word. Friends?
To Solomon: Thank you for your patience with me. I am happy for you, truly.
To everyone else: Ignore those last two paragraphs, please.