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Wench, wench, wenchity-wench wench

I am a sick, sick girl. Two weeks of wretchedly hot weather, two weeks of barely sleeping at night, and my body has resorted to any means possible to keep me in bed. A doctor once told my dad that nervous disorders can mimic almost any ailment. It seems that exhaustion and a possible chemical imbalance can do the same thing. 

So there's your explanation for why I haven't been writing. I did start a couple of entries over the past two week, but one I deleted because I realized that it was turning into a ponderous laundry list of why I was so miserable. The other is lost forever because I apparently forgot to save it and we had a power outage. 

Oh well.

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So I felt icky for most of the week, stayed home and slept all day Wednesday to no avail, and came home Friday feeling slightly better.

I know I was feeling better because I could not stop complaining to Bill.

Bill: So, were you better today?

Me: I thought I was this morning, but apparently not. I have had every single symptom that it is possible to have at some point today.

Bill: Did you throw up? (this is always his first question in these situations. If there is a chance that I have something that causes one to throw up, even if it can't possibly be contagious, he wants to know right away so that he can make plans to be out of town for a few days)

Me: No, but I felt like I might for a few minutes this afternoon.

(beat)

Bill: Ma-

Me: It-

(pause, while we each wait for the other person to speak)

Me: I thi-

Bill: Di-

(another beat)

Me: (exasperated sigh) Okay, bring it on.

Bill: What?

Me: Let's have the lost of all the impossibly gross things you're thinking of that I could not possibly have had today.

Bill: How do you know that's what I was going to ask?

Me: Because I made the mistake of saying I had "every" symptom possible today, and you are doing that face.

Bill: What face?

Me: The "Ooooh, an opportunity to irritate Marie by thinking of all kinds of creatively gross things" face. So let's have the list, and get it over with.

(one more beat)

Bill: Gangrene?

Me: No

Bill: Maggot infestation?

Me: Not that I know of.

Bill: Corneal swelling?

Me: Ow. No.

Bill: Spleen enlargement and/or explosion?

Me: No

Bill: Um...

Me: Is that the best you can do? Are you tired or something? 

Bill: Projectile vomiting?

Me: I already said I didn't throw up.

Bill: Coughing, sneezing, congestion, sore throat?

Me: Yes, yes, yes and yes.

Bill: Headache? Stomachache?

Me: check, check.

Bill: Unprovoked violence?

Me: Hey, people get annoying, you know, I wouldn't call that unprovoked.

Bill: Muscle cramps?

Me: Yup.

Bill: That's pretty impressive for one day.

Me: Ah, but you've left out cold sweats, shivers, itchy eyes and acute crankiness.

Bill: Severe and constant complaining?

Me: Definitely

Bill: Wenchiness?

Me: Like you wouldn't believe.

+++++

So I am trying to take it easy and I'm going to the doctor as soon as I get an appointment. I don't think he can help with how disgustingly hot it's been, but I need to go, if for no other reason than because I have finally become convinced that I inherited some kind of disorder from my mother and seratonin (again, spelling? no idea) is an issue.

+++++

We went to the beach for the afternoon yesterday and I slept and read on a towel under the umbrella and ate chips and Bill bought me a popsicle and stuck it in my shorts to make me scream. Then we went home and I read Ursula and went to bed and actually slept pretty well for the first time in a few weeks. And all was well.

I got up this morning and felt more-or-less fine, then started to think about how I have to go back to work tomorrow and got tired again. Went to church, felt truly terrible, started shaking and breathing hard and getting all panicky for no reason.

So we came home, I went back to bed, slept for an hour, got up, ate a peach and drank a little blue can of D-stress and read some very fluffy Harry Potter fanfic and everything was better.

Something is not right.

+++++

But that is okay, for now. Have asked Mr. Bill to get me a doctor's appointment, so hopefully we can lick this thing, and in the interim, hopefully I will continue to feel better.

+++++

Bill has, of course, been a stalwart support through all of this and has done more than his share around the house, plus listening patiently to me complain for the past week. He is a super-human being of whom I am not worthy, but it's lucky that I got him anyway because I don't know where I would be without him.

I went in an woke him up from a nap and asked him if he would like to finish the entry for me with some advice about how to deal with sick wives that complain a lot, but he merely said "Duct tape" and rolled over, so I guess we'll save the guest entry for another time.

I guess I'll have to leave you to ponder the sage meaning of "Duct tape" because it is high time we went a sat on my mother-in-laws sofa and ate her food and had ice-cream brought to us.