Still Sick

It's no fun being sick. I've spent a lot of time in bed with the phone in the room turned off. That would work perfectly, since I can't hear it ring with the door closed, except that John comes in and wakes me up to tell me who called, and whether or not they left a message. Gee, thanks. He's looking out for me.

It's been so long since I've been sick, I've forgotten how annoying it can be. A nose can only get blown so many times before it gets raw. Even double-strength, extra-soft tissue feels like sand paper after a few days. The hot decongestant teas don't taste as bad as some of the cough medicines, but I'm not sure they work any better, either.

One good thing to have handy is the hand sanitizer. We keep it by every sink. Emptying the dish washer today, I had to use the stuff four times—once before I started, after washing my hands, and again after each time I stopped to sneeze a few times and blow my nose. I did finally get it all emptied, though (the dishwasher, not the nose).

It's amazing how happy John can be with a simple meal. Hot dogs? Macaroni and cheese? He's fine, as long as there's enough to fill him up. I'll get back to more creative cooking as soon as I feel human again. We're both hoping that will be soon. 

It's often said that whatever doesn't kill us, makes us stronger. I'm not sure I believe that anymore, but if it's true, I should be really strong when this goes away.