In which Lyme kicks my butt

Man, I felt crappy last night.  We all went to bed early.  JD and the dog fell right asleep.  I had fever and chills and nausea and whatnot.  While JD quietly snored and the dog peacefully farted out a cloud of sulfur gas, I whimpered.  Oh, that sucked.

I woke up at eight in the morning, and then apparently fell back asleep.  When I glanced back at the clock it was ten.  I realized that I couldn't afford to fall asleep again, as I needed to take my morning dose of antibiotics.  I stumbled out of bed into the bathroom, and noticed that I had gained a double chin overnight.  And purple eyeliner.  Oh yay, the swollen glands and tired features of Lyme disease.  If I had any question before about whether or not I was really sick, I don't now.  (Although, I guess it could be the drugs.  But I doubt antibiotics would give me swollen glands all on their own.  Right?  Who the hell knows?)

I went downstairs and took my big blue pill.  Shortly thereafter, the phone rang.  Oh!  Yes!  Tara.  Totally forgot about my life outside the house.  I apologized for missing our ride, and asked her to check on Pluto.

Then several hours passed.  I'm not really sure what happened.  I was pretty out of it.

So I guess I could say I'm "fighting Lyme disease" now.  [1]  However, I personally feel that "fighting" is a stupid description of being sick.  It's more like "being mugged".  I am not hitting Lyme disease in the face.  I'm sitting here suffering.  Taking a pill twice a day does not qualify as fighting.  In fact, the whole "he bravely fought cancer for five years" thing bugs me.  He, the hypothetical he, SUFFERED from cancer for five years.  Going to chemo and barfing is not fighting.  It's the medical equivalent of being beaten up repeatedly.  I admit that there is some stoicism involved, but it's not like you're using judo skills on your disease.

Anyway, so the day passed.  And then I got hungry and JD suggested Chanan and there was yumminess.  Also, pants-wearing.

When we came back I sacked out on the sofa and watched a little Stargate SG-1 on Netflix.  Nazca, also, watched.

Nazca loves him some sci-fi.  He likes to watch from right in front of the tv.

It's been a very quadrupedal day.  Somebody furry has been touching me at nearly all times since before I awoke.  It started with Beauty pressed up against me in bed, then Andy on my lap, then Dory on my lap, then Dory, Andy, and Olli fighting for a place on my lap.. Fortunately it's cool enough to wear long pants (technically, champagne bottle pajamas) so no damage to the lap occurred.

The view from where I sat, for much of the day.

I expect I'll be heading back to bed soon, hoping for another ten to twelve hours of sleep.  If tomorrow is a repeat of today, work is going to suck.  Come on, doxycycline, do your thing.


[1] Lyme.  Not Lyme's.  It isn't possessive.  Lyme refers to a place, not a person.