We're going on one solid month of this wretched cough and fever and it's getting me down today. The layers and layers of clothes, alternately shivering and sweating in bed, the endless coughing jags at night and all day. Enough already.
I finally broke down and saw my GP yesterday, which makes it the first time ever I've seen my GP for a cold. I'm officially Woody Allen. She did all the necessary checks and declared me sick with a cold, but not likely infected with anything. "Turn on your humidifier," she recommended in her no-nonsense way. She wrote me out a req for some bloodwork to see where my Neutrophils were at, but I don't have the energy or inclination to get it done today.
After weeping like a little girl into my green juice this morning and having Stella tell me on the way to school, "It's probably just your cancer AND a cold, Mommy," I decided to lay low today and try to conjure up some cravings on my quick trip to the grocery store. That's the annoying thing about working the usual culprits - caffeine, sugar and white flour - out of my system over the past few months. Cravings, even when you want to cuddle up to them, are buried a little deeper.
What I really, really want is a huge steaming bowl of Shao Lin noodle soup from Broadway in Vancouver with a plate of the gigantic bready dumplings they serve. The chances of me getting that or even traipsing down to Chinatown to seek out an alternative are nil. So I reached deep in the frozen food section and like any other red-blooded Canadian girl, tossed a bag of french fries and some perogies into my cart. Potatoes much? To top it off, I'm making macaroni and cheese tonight, so if you see a bald chick walking around with an acute case of carb face, you'll know I've emerged from the deep.
Now let me get back to my tent on the couch to read Vogue, watch Gossip Girl and generally do all the things that add zero value to my life. I need a break from the sick, y'all.