So it's only the second day of the month and already I'm behind on, well, everything. Sigh. This does not bode well. Not just for this journal--probably not even mostly for this journal, because a procrastination method will win out over serious productive work every time. So the Holidailies project is still safe, for now. I think.

Part of the reason I'm not getting much done is because I haven't been sleeping. The last couple of nights I've spent tossing and turning, listening to Dario and Vicki snore in perfect harmony (or sometimes in a syncopated rhythm carefully calibrated to jolt me out of the slightest doze). I can't blame my insomnia on them, though, it's the result of a whole bunch of stuff. My sleep schedule has been a little... off for a few weeks now.
This is probably the part where I should start filling you in on what I've been up to lately, huh?

Let's start with the drama. A few weeks back, I realized I had (TMI alert for the extremely squeamish) a UTI. The only reason I was able to diagnose myself so promptly was that, for some reason, UTIs are a rather frequent topic of conversation over at the forum, so I was familiar with the symptoms. From the same source I also knew I should probably go to the doctor, especially since there is no cranberry juice in this country to attempt a bit of self-treatment.

The next day, though, the symptoms were mostly gone; only the occasional slight twinge remained. I drank a lot of water and hoped that it had just been a passing affliction, since I had some short translating deadlines and a visit to the doctor means at least half a day spent sitting around the waiting room being surreptitiously observed by those representatives of the elderly population of Trebbo who use the doctor's office as a sort of Senior Citizens' Social Center. I was happy enough to avoid it.

I had been fighting off some sort of cold or flu for a few weeks, and hadn't felt up to snuff in general for a while, so I didn't notice anything especially awry until the weekend. The night between All Saints' Day and the Day of the Dead, as I was getting into bed around midnight, I felt a sharp twinge in my lower back. Really sharp. As in, it hurt like hell. I tried to curled up under the covers, but couldn't find a comfortable position; I was almost sobbing from the pain. I was sure I'd somehow managed to sprain my back, that my one-step-above-a-coma-patient sedentary lifestyle had finally converged with the inexorable passage of time to wreak vengeance upon my poor, neglected, aging body.

Then I started to shiver. My teeth were chattering. Dario woke up (sort of) and asked me what was going on, and I tried to explain that I'd hurt my back and was freezing cold. He got up and brought in a blanket to spread over the comforter, and when I still felt cold added another one on top of that. I finally started to warm up, and dozed fitfully for the rest of the night, never able to rest completely due to the ache in my back or bouts of cold.

We had planned to have the Sunday meal over at the in-laws', and had offered to bring dessert. I'd originally wanted to make apple pie, but ended up making an apple cobbler earlier in the week and settling for brownies as the dessert option. Mostly, I ended up sitting on a chair in the kitchen and instructing Dario on what to do (although I did get up and fold the ingredients together myself). I couldn't walk fully upright, and so I shuffled along hunched over like someone twice my age, and I was so tired after the restless night that I took an hour-long nap before we went to their place. At the table, Marisa told me I was white as a sheet, and she was sure I was getting the flu. "You'll have a fever by this evening," she predicted.

Well, she wasn't wrong. Not about that last part, anyway.

I took yet another nap that afternoon, then huddled in front of the computer for a while. I had a huge translation I was supposed to spend the weekend working on, a legal document with an immovable deadline, but I could not muster the strength to start on it. After a while I started to feel chilly again, and when I took my temperature it was a little over 38°C (101° F). Dario brought me some Tylenol and packed me off to bed, saying that I could work the next day after I'd rested up.

When, about a half an hour later, I started shivering and my teeth were chattering again, just like the night before, I took my temperature again. Dario went into a panic at the reading, shook the thermometer down and made me do it again. I felt so awful, aching all over with pulsing flames radiating out from the sore spot in my lower back, the rest of me feeling ice-cold and unable to stop shaking. I was now up to 39.7°C (103.5° F), and I'd already taken two extra-strength Tylenols about an hour before.
It was time to call in the big guns.


Hey, look at that! Doing short(er) entries means I get to do fun things like leave cliffhangers and stuff. How will you ever stand the suspense until tomorrow?