My body has been under it’s own germ warfare for a month and as much as I wish I could say I’ve taken care of myself… I haven’t.

I don’t sleep more than 4 hours every night…. and please don’t join in the collective peanut gallery who loves to tell me I should sleep more. Really? I never thought of that… thanks. <eyeroll>.

My head hurts, my neck hurts, my feet hurt… ugh. My everything hurts… which finally kicked me into gear, because the suffering had become overwhelming.

Uck. The doctor. That unavoidable dude standing in the way of my antibiotic relief.

Once upon a time I dated a doctor for a while. Nice enough guy, cute- and being that I would love to be a nurse when I grow up… full of interesting information. Older, bossy and determined to get married and have babies. No mas babies for this girl… so it didn’t work, but we’re still friends. Seeing the loophole I may be able to capitalize on, I call him.

J- Heyyyy how’ve you been? I need a favor…

D- What’s up honey? How have YOU been? I haven’t heard from you in ages.

Since I stopped dating him…. ish. Oops.

J- I’m dying. lol… kidding… but I need you to call in a prescription for me. Please oh please.

D- You know I can’t do that. I have to see you first.

FML. I should have gone to Urgent Care.

J- I’ll stop by after work? Or do I have to make an appointment?

D- No, just come over when you’re done, I’ll grab what I need from the office.

There is a God… and apparently He wants me to get better because relief is in sight <I hope!>

The pain in my sinuses is bone crushing. I’m praying my nose doesn’t start running and I’m watching the sand in the hourglass of my work day, run out… Thanks be to God. It always amazes me how much I take for granted feeling well, until I get sick and I’m rendered worthless.

I don’t get to be worthlessly sick anymore- time stops for no single mommy. My eyes feel like they might burst, and I’m positive my blood has coagulated because it’s fighting it’s way through my temples. I can’t run- I nearly keel over and die after the first 3 minutes. My ears are plugged and I’m driving people insane asking them to repeat themselves.

I’m fucking miserable.

Driving to the Doc’s house, which is strange because I’ve never gone there for help before. He greets me at the door with a glass of wine. There’s music playing. Oh no. It’s 17 degrees and I have the chills so I’m going in, whether he’s decided to be Lance Romance or not.

Lit candles.

Mariah Carrey Christmas music… my favorite red in a sparkly glass. What part of “I think my brain is liquifying and running out of my nose” sounds like a booty call? The look on his face says it all. I think he actually thought I was missing him- but he’s getting stuff together and grabs me by the hand, pulling me to the kitchen counter and patting it where he wanted me to sit… which took every ounce of energy I have left. I want to cry I feel so bad… and care and comfort make me vulnerable and weepy. I’ve had a horrible day and its been another one of those weeks.

He takes my temp… 103.4… and shakes his head at me.

D- Somebody is not feeling well. Open your mouth and say ahhhh.

J- That’s what he said.

D- Ha ha ha ha… I walked into that one. Seriously though- open up.

I comply… and he takes a step back and his eyes get wide, sets his little light down and walks towards the bathroom, shaking his head. He comes back with zinc lozenges and a blanket, draping it across my legs while he’s unwrapping the unsavory little throat soldier.

J- I hate those. Thanks though.

D- Your throat is bleeding. You must be in agony. Put it in your mouth and be quiet.

J- Again… that’s what he said.

D- Don’t make me laugh around you, I don’t want to catch your Hanta virus.

He grabs his stethoscope and raises an eyebrow at me. I start laughing. You really can’t say you’ve played doctor until you’ve done so with a professional…I’ve worn his stethoscope before. lol…

D- At least I can still make you blush. Unbutton or lift up?

I unbutton my shirt and he listens for a minute, slides the icy cold nightmare to my back, both sides… and frowns at me.

D- As long as you’re unwilling to let someone else take care of you- you need to do it for yourself. You can’t let yourself get so sick. Your lungs sound horrible. Are you smoking again?

He grabs my purse, digs around until he finds them, and throws my cigarettes in the trash.

D- You definitely have strep throat. You definitely have pneumonia. You are feverish, flushed and working again tomorrow? You can’t. I’m calling to tell them if you don’t. You must rest and take care of your poor body. I’m home tomorrow, come watch football with me and sleep.

He wraps my arms around his neck and carries me to the living room. I’m too sick to do anything but lay my head on his shoulder and fight back tears. I’m tired. I’m miserable… and missing the love of my life more than anything in this moment. Embracing my vulnerability for a change.

He set me on the couch and put my wine glass back in my hand… wrapping the blanket around me and pulling it up to my neck. Reaching for my socks to rub my feet.

J- Touch those and die. I’ve been working all night, they hurt and I’m positive they smell horrible. Don’t.

D- Shut up and let someone help you for a minute. Nothing could be as gross as your throat.

Tugging my little white anklets off… icy cold lotion and smooth soft hands.

D- Good Lord, look at your poor feet.

He frowns at me again.

I fall asleep…. and wake up in his guest room a few hours later… with tea, cough syrup, and a note.

D- The offer stands if you can accept the help. Your scrip is in your purse & quit fucking smoking. Love ya beautiful- it’s great to see you. Get better.

I slipped my shoes back on and drove home, feeling a million times better and armed with a cure to this overwhelming illness I can’t shake. Counting the seconds until the pharmacy opens…

And… counting my blessings because I really needed someone to take care of me, and nothing beats a professional armed with the keys to relief.

Pray it works… I have 24 hours to get better. Oy.