So yesterday my night ended at 2:00 as I woke up thinking about the ancient and idiotic practice of doctors bleeding patients. (And I don’t mean bleeding them in the Obamacare sense, but in the opening-veins or applying leeches sense.)
My face was throbbing from this cold. With every heartbeat I felt my stuffy forehead and cheeks pulsing, and for the first time I understood why those old-timey doctors, with so little to go on, concluded that diseased bodies were loaded with excess “humours” that needed to be released.
At that moment, if some kindly old quack had offered to surround my eyeballs with crescents of sucking leeches, I’d have said, “Hey, let’s give it a try.”
It was a lost day. I scarcely ate, drank, moved, or thought. I did drag myself out around noon to walk the dogs, figuring my lassitude might be caused in part by lying around and a little walk might help. But nope. I dragged myself through the walk, then dragged my sorry butt right back to bed afterward.
Thus the lack of blogitude yesterday.
There are all kinds of symptom-reducers for colds and believe me, I’m grateful for them. But not one does a thing to combat the heavy, throbbing stupidity.
I continued to suck zinc. Made myself eat and drink. And finally by the time I dragged myself from bed to couch to binge-watch episodes of House of Cards (season 3; so far not as marvelously wicked as previous seasons, but still a good fix for any political junkie), I started feeling human again. Half human, at least.
In the evening I took the advice to enjoy a long HOT bath and to force down an extra helping of Nyquil (since I’m not a whiskey person). Gawd, that stuff is foul. I try to tell myself it’s polyjuice potion and will have results that are worth the ick.
I slept in all the way ’til 3:00 this morning. When I woke I thought I felt good. After a pot of tea I realized I felt good only by comparison with yesterday. But you know, that’ll do. That’ll definitely do.