I may be dying. Seriously. Dying.
In addition to being obscenely busy at work, I’ve been under the weather lately.
Before you go jumping to any conclusions, it’s not the swine flu. I don’t have a fever or feel like I have a cold. I just feel off. Like majorly off.
And no, it’s not depression. Jesus! You people think you know me, but you don’t.
Okay, so I did ask HC if he thought that all my sickness symptoms were just a byproduct of depression. He asked, “Are you depressed?” I responded, “I don’t think so… but maybe I don’t know I’m depressed.” HC chalked this whole thing up to me being a head case, but not actually being depressed.
While I still leave the depression door open, I’m growing increasingly concerned that I might have some slow-moving plague of sorts. The number one reason why I think I may be dying is that I have had chronic nausea for going on three weeks.
Let’s just stop here one second. I have an iron stomach. I can eat anything. The only time I actually have an upset stomach is when I’ve been over-served the night before.
So you can imagine that, feeling nauseous for three weeks sans alcohol overindulgence is really messing with me. It’s not so bad that I have to stay home sick, tho I desperately want to. And it’s not like I’m actually throwing up or anything.
Except that one time.
So I was walking to an appointment on K and 21st. I was not feeling tip top. It was 8:15am, which is way too early to do anything. I had to park the car, then head into the appointment. Thankfully, HC was with me and offered to get me something to eat, hoping that perhaps food would help-not-hurt in this situation. HC went off to forage for food the way urbanites do – you know, at the closest Starbucks. I started toward the office building. People were walking toward me, and I was growing more and more unsettled.
It was too late. I turned inward toward a building, instead of outward toward the street, frantically looking for a safe spot to stop and collect myself. then I saw it – a flower pot. Perfect. I stood over the flower pot, trying desperately to pull myself together. Then it happened. Yup, threw up into said flower pot.
You would think, 1) good thing you found the flower pot so that you didn’t have to throw up on a pedestrian heading for work and increase your overall embarrassment, 2) good thing you have the type of urban survival skills that would allow you to quickly assess your surroundings to locate a next-best to a toilet or garbage can while on the street, 3) good thing you actually threw up, because you should feel better now. You would think all of this, but you’d be wrong.
While I was pleased that I minimized my embarrassment by finding a sheltered flower pot and did not have to inadvertently ruin some stranger’s day, I did not feel better. The sickness lingered.
And three weeks later, it continues to linger. So either I have a slow-moving plague OR I am going to be nauseous for the rest of my life. I will tell you know, I choose the plague. Because I’m not sure I can stand even one more day of this nonsense!
The worst part? I might actually have to go to the doctor to deal with this. And that’s annoying.