Cancer (and the chronic sinus issues aside), since early 2020, I managed to avoid getting sick. I mean, if there was a plus side to the plague sweeping the planet, that was definitely it for me (also, it's documented that there were fewer recorded cases of the flu). Until a couple of weeks ago, that is.
I arranged to have the 12th off, and had planned on doing a whole bunch of nothing that weekend. Tuesday (the 8th) I was at my day job and began to develop a headache that just wouldn't go away, and I was coughing a little. By lunchtime, the headache was pretty unbearable, so I told my supervisor that- if he didn't need anything from me- I was going home and taking some nighttime ibuprofen and sleeping it off. Nope. By about four, I was freezing. I was wearing a tee shirt, sweat shirt, sweat pants, two throw blankets, and a comforter. My temp was 101. Fuck.
I took one of the at home tests. It was negative, but the instructions said "in case of a negative test, retake within 24-48 hours for confirmation". I continued to be cold and feverish, and to feel (generally) like shit. Oh, and the coughing had gotten a bit worse.
(Side note: When you've had surgery for prostate cancer, your bladder is often recipient of some of the unfortunate side effects. They are exacerbated by coughing, sneezing, laughing hard, moving the wrong way, and a fuckload of other reasons.)
By Wednesday evening, not feeling better, and still having a triple digit fever (I hit 103, I think- or maybe it was 104), I took a second test. It showed positive, but I was worried I'd fucked it up and took a third. It was positive, too. Quarantine time- which I "celebrated" by staying in bed until Saturday afternoon (I think?). I managed to get some laundry done Sunday (or maybe it was Monday) and- by then- I was getting stir crazy. By the time my CDC (and work) imposed isolation was over Tuesday, I went back to work.
Leftover symptoms? Yep. Fatigue. For fuck's sake, it was like going through the fucking radiation therapy again. Oh, and feeling like I couldn't completely catch my breath.
Still, I managed to work the week out, but had to tell the Tavern there was no way I'd be able to get through karaoke that week (the 19th), so...
By the 21st, I figured I was good to go- even if I was still fatiguing easily and still couldn't really manage to catch my breath. And then...
Thursday afternoon, I'm heading home from work and begin to feel a tad dizzy and queasy. I get home and do the daily ritual of feeding the cats (indoor and out) their dinners, scooping litter pans, and by now I'm thinking- maybe I'm not feeling like this because the last time I ate was a bowl of cereal 4am that morning, so I shower a grab a PBJ (kind of a standard meal for me). Well, that didn't help. I was back in bed with a rapidly rising fever, nausea, a pain in my side, and a splitting headache. I essentially passed out watching King of the Hill and- next thing I know- it's 8ish and Shelby's asking me what's wrong with me (she says the best way to know if I'm sick or not is by how much I sleep). My fever was 102. I didn't work Friday, managed to completely soak six different tee shirts, a likewise number of pairs of shorts, and the bedding from the fever sweats. Saturday night looked a lot like it was gonna be 0 for its last 2 up until Friday evening, when I managed to stay upright for a couple of hours without feeling like I was going to swoon like one of the March sisters contemplating her marriage prospects. Fatigue had hit hard again, though- between Thursday afternoon and Saturday evening when I got up to shower- I'd slept around 44 of the 50 hours.
I felt a tad better this morning, and got up to do my normal Sunday routine- laundry, dishes, etc. I thought I'd give a shot at having some breakfast, so I grabbed the milk and
the milk b-a-d nasty, which I hadn't noticed Thursday morning. Evidently, I'd managed to get myself a case of food poisoning in celebration of being mostly over COVID.
On the plus side, though, I've dropped 18 pounds.
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Speaking of pounds (or dollars, rather), Sting has sold off the publishing rights to his entire catalog to Universal for a reported $300 million- which makes me ask the question: Will he rename his tour- which is currently using the "My Songs" title? I mean, since they aren't his songs any more? Also, what songs will he sing now?
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Kelly Clarkson has filed a court petition seeking to legally change her name to Kelly Brianne. US Weekly reports Clarkson's filing says she wants to go by her first and middle name because "my new name more fully reflects who I am."
Clarkson was declared legally single five months ago, in the midst of a contentious divorce from Brandon Blackstock.
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Scrolling through my Facebook memories this morning, I'm reminded that there was actually someone who gave me shit about cancelling karaoke the Saturday that my mother died. To say I don't miss that sawed off little fuck a single bit is an understatement.
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Molly Ringwald really is Samantha Baker. (Also, I'd be happy to attempt to console her.)
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NME headline: Liam Gallagher: “I sound good. I look cool. I talk from the heart”
Welp, I'm thinking at least two of those things are untrue.
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Why is everyone waxing poetic about the Super Bowl halftime show and conveniently forgetting Dr. Dre has a long history of repeated allegations of abuse and mistreatment of women?
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Birthdays today include: Sandy Duncan (76); Kristy Marlana Wallace aka Poison Ivy of The Cramps (69); Jon Brant of Cheap Trick (68); Ian Brown of Stone Roses (59); Brian Littrell of Backstreet Boys (47); Julia Volkova of t.A.T.u.(37); and Rihanna (34). #MusicalBirthdays
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