New Life

The devil is in the details...

I have bad news. When I got to work this morning, the good doctor took one look at me and ordered a blood test. I have not been well. I'm tired and I'm worn and I've been holding onto the shred of health that tells me if I just get enough sleep, I'll figure it out. Well, suffice it to say that one blood test and a lumbar puncture (which hurts like fucking hell) later, my viral meningitis? It's back. With a vengeance. I do not need to be hospitalized. (Unless I get stupid and do too much.) And I am not catching. I'm just exhausted. Which means that I can go to work, but I have to make my world as small as possible for a little while. Work. Home. Bed. Work. Home. Bed. And that is boring and it's not pleasant, but it's reality. I can't go to meetings. I can't go dancing. And I most certainly cannot do anything that wears me out. I have no appetite. And I have no drive. I'm just aching and tired. My head pounds and my back wants so much to be caressed. Books do not hold my attention either. My saving grace and escape in literature is no longer working.

I have to take morphine for the pain, which scares the living crap out of me. But I've been assured by my doctor that he will not allow me to take it irresponsibly. It frightens me. Very much. And I'm scared of being this sick once again. It was awful last time and if I can only stay out of the hospital, I'll consider it a success.