By crickey I’ve had a rough couple of weeks.
A couple of weeks ago either Bean or Russell bought a cold home with them, and everyone got it, including me. I just lost my voice completely, but it’s been there the whole time, bubbling under the surface. Then I stopped sleeping, and it knocked my mental health so badly. Then yesterday a fever hit me, really suddenly. I was talking to Russell out of the front of the house and I had to walk away and lie down. I had a really, really rough night, as my temperature got worse and hit 41.3°, which I think is fully in the danger zone, and 5° more than my usual 36.3° temperature.
I had a really rough night. No sleep, periods of deleriousness, my ectopic heart beats going crazy and my heart beating so damn fast.
At 7am it had dropped a tiny bit to 40.8°, but around 10am I think the fever broke, my temperature normalised and it’s not so scary now. I’ve just had some soup and managed to get downstairs.
People can be really cruel to me when I try to explain that colds affect me in a different way to most people because I’m immunocompromised, but man, that was a scary night. I think people tie it all in with the need to get back to ‘normal’ without remembering that this had been going on for me a couple of years before Covid hit, and it’s just how my life is. This was such a mild cold for everyone else, but jeez I was scared last night.
Anyway. I feel terrible (nay), but I hope I’m over the worse (massive yay).
I am somewhat disappointed, though. I’ve watched enough period dramas to know that when you have s delirious fever there should be AT LEAST three women sat around the bed dabbing my head with damp cloths and spooning me soup.