Giving up and giving in to the crud

Wednesday I gave up, took half a day PTO, and went to urgent care. it was the swollen tonsils that finally did me in, not being able to swallow without pain. my job is talking, and it was misery. Eyes still slightly goopy, still coughing up crud, maybe running a fever (none of my thermometers will register anything remotely normal on me).

Got into the Crumbl-adjacent urgent care quickly, and the checked me over. I was wildly uncooperative for the strep test (reflexes! I swear!), and agreed that "sinus infection" sounds like a solid diagnosis. got a shot of steroids to help with various inflammation, and three Rx for treatment: antibiotics, fluconozole because antibiotics, and cough syrup that knocks me on my ass.

Picked up soup and dumplings from the Asian place and a giant Diet Dr Pepper on my way home, and then crashed out. I felt too gross to want to stop in Crumbl; they didn't have my Pink Cookie this week, and the other offerings didn't appeal to me. roused myself long enough to get my drugs before the place closed, ingest some of everything, and crawl into bed. Ended up calling off Thursday, too, and spent it in a cough-syrup-induced coma, which was badly needed. not drinking enough, but WOW did uninterrupted sleep feel good.

All of this has dug up all manner of issues regarding illness and going to the doctor and the need for therapy to work this all out. I could type it all out, but I'm not really up for that just this moment. I think it's something I'll have to work out in bits, sit with it and separate what's my own formed opinion and what was forced on me.

feeling much better with drugs on board, and hoping to keep this trajectory so I'm delicately phlegm-free come mid-april.

Spring thoughts

Hope is the sun still breaking through cracks in the purple darkness at 8:10pm the last week of March.

Kindness is the PA giving you fluconazole with the doxycycline, because antibiotics can work too well, and why add insult to injury?

Relief comes from that small bottle of foul-tasting yellow liquid, that's somehow easier to choke down than the barely-touched bottle of port that you gave in to, but didn't really want

Strength is not so much saying "no" when you really meant to, but saying "enough" and putting the cup down, wasted wine be damned.

Resilience is knowing that open bottle of port can sit there and not bother you one whit.

Maturity is knowing what could have come next, and all the ways it could have possibly ended, and knowing that the best ending of all would be not beginning, changing the subject, climbing the stairs to your own bed, alone.