Yesterday I was pretty sure I either had something dire, like meningitis or trypanosomiasis (also called sleeping sickness). Because I was so endlessly tired.
Not to be all dramatic or anything.
On a tangent (because you know I love to tange) the tsetse fly, which spreads trypanosomiasis, is really interesting. The tsetse fly is described as "large, brown, and stealthy" - how great a description is that? This fascination fits right in with all the other parasites by which I'm endlessly fascinated.
But in a horrified, I sure hope that doesn't happen to me, kind of way.
Sunday night I went to bed at 10 pm and barely managed to crawl out at 10 am. I promptly went back to sleep and slept almost all day. I felt like crap, but mostly I was just tired, so very tired.
On Monday I accomplished only two things: a blog post, and the painting of my toenails. Orange. Both from bed. And that was all.
If you live in the DC area you know that Monday was one of the most exquisite days of the year. I felt like one of those consumptive 19th century heroines, confined to bed, gazing longingly out the window, putting out a wan hand to draw the shades.
Can you tell I was feeling very sorry for myself?
I wanted to get up and out. But frankly, I just couldn't move.
Tuesday morning Nick woke me up, and the minute I stood up, I thought my head was going to explode. Seriously. My brain felt too big for my skull. I broke into a sweat, felt dizzy, nauseous, and had to sit down.
He wanted me to stay home, but I figured I only had a half day, as I had a physical scheduled for the afternoon. I could make it that long.
So in the car I had the AC blasting on my sweaty face, and I was trying very hard to concentrate and not throw up in the car. Which prompted Nick to drive me straight home and order me to bed.
This is the point at which I became certain that it was something calamitous and fatal. And then I started thinking, with trypanosomiasis, it may be fatal, but you have time. Meningitis? I think that's pretty swift. Naturally, I was worried.
I considered calling all my loved ones, just in case, the way I do when I'm going to get on a plane, but I was just too tired.
Nick didn't seem as concerned as I, and said he'd check in later.
He called to wake me up around noon and I was still alive, so that part was good. I popped some Advil and had some tea and tottered feebly off to the doctor.
I was there for a routine physical. But I started off with my current ailment. Which, as anyone could plainly see, was grim. I waited to see what she'd say, because of course I didn't want to make the diagnosis for her.
Also, I didn't want her to think I was an alarmist. I try to perpetuate the illusion of normalcy for as long as possible, you know?
I listed my symptoms.
"It's probably a virus."
"Yes. Or it could be allergies. This has been a terrible season."
"I think it's allergies or a virus."
"Allergies or a virus?"
By this point I'm fairly certain she was beginning to wonder if the main problem was that I was simple, since I didn't seem to be able to do much beyond repeat what she'd said.
The good thing was, I'd made a list of issues to discuss. Her nurse had suggested it last week, when I'd gone in to do blood work and give a urine specimen (which, actually, I'd like to discuss at a later time). It was really helpful, because I can never remember these things in the moment.
She assuaged my fears on a number of issues. So later I went through the list with Nick all of the things that we'd discussed.
"So, did you ask her about your boobs?"
"Did you ask her why she thinks your boobs are enormous lately?"
"Um, no, I didn't think to."
"You think it's a problem?"
"No, but I was just thinking that then you could've asked her what you can do to keep them this way."
Unhelpful. Trypanosoma. Is the look I gave him.
I'm back at work today, so she was probably right. A virus. Or allergies.