I remember the first time I got a cold early in our marriage. “I’m sick. I have a cold. I need to go to the doctor,” I whined. I was an Army brat and medical services were free. You went to the “dispensary,” saw the doctor, and went to the window to get whatever medicines the doctor wanted you to have. All free. My husband, from a middle-class, non-military family with five boys had to be on death’s door before being taken to the doctor. You’d better be bleeding profusely or have a bone poking through to go to the doctor. With five boys, that happened plenty of time. Good thing an uncle was an MD. But to go to the doctor for a common cold was unheard of. “You don’t go to the doctor for a cold. Stay in bed. Drink orange juice. It’ll go away.”
Yeah. Eventually. But I’d like to speed up the process a little. This has set me back in my efforts to recapture my house from the holiday. Usually the tree comes down the day after. It’s over. No need to hang around. Out the door. The children are thrilled that the tree is still up. Also, I’ve discovered Bundle of Joy #3’s holiday fudge is quite soothing on a sore throat.
I’ve lost touch with blogging, too. Except for a brief exchange with Ben (R u getting this, Ben, m’boy? Still to sick to respond. And on drugs, to boot.) I’ve barely looked at the blogs. They will have to wait while I try the proper combination of meds to speed my recovery. So far the best combination I’ve found is Actifed, Nyquil, and a Vicodin.
I hope I don’t wake up dead.