It's Not Easy Being Green
I am still in the agony of the death flu.
I mean that quite literally, as the congestion pain is crushing my skull, and shooting down nerves of my chest and back. I would be constantly screaming--if I had a voice.
It may be literal on the mortality part too. I've had death flus before--the kind the just keep getting worse and worse, and I've spent my time with antibiotics and nebulizers.
Bu this flu is entering three months, and, impossibly, I'm still getting worse. I've been through two rounds of antibios. Because--of course--it's given me a respiratory infection that won't die either. When I went to the clinic--because the doctors are all on holiday--they wouldn't let me stay in the waiting room.
Let me be clear, the waiting room was crammed full of people who were coughing and spraying mucus in every direction. I was endlessly coughing too--the pain, it felt like the alien would rip out of my chest at any moment, but even delirious and exhausted, I was spitting my horrific fluids into tissues and dropping them into my bucket. I, by necessity, had become very efficient at this assembly line.
But I, who was the only one at least making at effort to keep my disease to myself, I was too disgusting to wait with everyone else. Instead, I got the humiliation of being ordered to wait in the washroom--easily the most filthy repulsive place they could come up with. I hurt so bad, and I was so weak, that I couldn't manage to stay upright. I ended up stumbling into the corner, and leaning into the wall so I wouldn't fall down.
I waited like that for more than an hour.
The doctor, in about two seconds, diagnosed me as "infected". But I didn't get pulled away by scary people in Haz-Mats. I just got my second run of antibios, which, it seems, this thing has laughed at...
Here is how brutal this flu really is. The SU finally got it. Yes. The Teflon Immune System (tm) was breached. In a big way. Yes. Respiratory infection. First ever. Not only antiobios, the doctor said to use my asthma puffers. Why did the doctor not just prescribe them? Who the fuck knows. But I had to break out the aerochamber.
But, in the dark, around 6am on the 25th, I had the best present ever stroll up the bed and cuddle into me, purr already activated, for the perfect Hello / Good Morning / I Love You.
I wish we weren't sick, but I'll take anything to have my family together. His doctors say that Phoenix is doing great. They plan to switch his chemo soon to every other week. With that revelation, I sobbed like crazy. My brain couldn't help it. It did insta-math, calculated that meant we were halfway, and that meant we only had two, maybe three, months left.
Cue me losing my shit.
Every day, every MOMENT with him is precious. I've been so angry about this flu, because, on top of everything else, it means I'm not there for him the way I need to be. I won't get a do-over, and there's so little time left. That will hurt forever. The only comfort I've had is that I can't give him this flu. But my son deserves so much better. So much better than me. And so much better than life gave him.
It should have been me. He's a better person than I am. And my health....it's not good anyway.
But no, fate choose my son, at sixteen.
It's good that we don't know what's coming. We'd never go forward if we did. But to miss the pain, the terrible pain, we would have to miss all the joy and love and beauty.
I think now of how fate only gave me two children. I wanted so many more. And they just...didn't come. But fate knew what it was doing. The pain of not having them come, it now seems like a scratch. Because the pain of having them forced to go, is....is just.. everything ripped apart...
I mean that quite literally, as the congestion pain is crushing my skull, and shooting down nerves of my chest and back. I would be constantly screaming--if I had a voice.
It may be literal on the mortality part too. I've had death flus before--the kind the just keep getting worse and worse, and I've spent my time with antibiotics and nebulizers.
Bu this flu is entering three months, and, impossibly, I'm still getting worse. I've been through two rounds of antibios. Because--of course--it's given me a respiratory infection that won't die either. When I went to the clinic--because the doctors are all on holiday--they wouldn't let me stay in the waiting room.
Let me be clear, the waiting room was crammed full of people who were coughing and spraying mucus in every direction. I was endlessly coughing too--the pain, it felt like the alien would rip out of my chest at any moment, but even delirious and exhausted, I was spitting my horrific fluids into tissues and dropping them into my bucket. I, by necessity, had become very efficient at this assembly line.
But I, who was the only one at least making at effort to keep my disease to myself, I was too disgusting to wait with everyone else. Instead, I got the humiliation of being ordered to wait in the washroom--easily the most filthy repulsive place they could come up with. I hurt so bad, and I was so weak, that I couldn't manage to stay upright. I ended up stumbling into the corner, and leaning into the wall so I wouldn't fall down.
I waited like that for more than an hour.
The doctor, in about two seconds, diagnosed me as "infected". But I didn't get pulled away by scary people in Haz-Mats. I just got my second run of antibios, which, it seems, this thing has laughed at...
Here is how brutal this flu really is. The SU finally got it. Yes. The Teflon Immune System (tm) was breached. In a big way. Yes. Respiratory infection. First ever. Not only antiobios, the doctor said to use my asthma puffers. Why did the doctor not just prescribe them? Who the fuck knows. But I had to break out the aerochamber.
But, in the dark, around 6am on the 25th, I had the best present ever stroll up the bed and cuddle into me, purr already activated, for the perfect Hello / Good Morning / I Love You.
I wish we weren't sick, but I'll take anything to have my family together. His doctors say that Phoenix is doing great. They plan to switch his chemo soon to every other week. With that revelation, I sobbed like crazy. My brain couldn't help it. It did insta-math, calculated that meant we were halfway, and that meant we only had two, maybe three, months left.
Cue me losing my shit.
Every day, every MOMENT with him is precious. I've been so angry about this flu, because, on top of everything else, it means I'm not there for him the way I need to be. I won't get a do-over, and there's so little time left. That will hurt forever. The only comfort I've had is that I can't give him this flu. But my son deserves so much better. So much better than me. And so much better than life gave him.
It should have been me. He's a better person than I am. And my health....it's not good anyway.
But no, fate choose my son, at sixteen.
It's good that we don't know what's coming. We'd never go forward if we did. But to miss the pain, the terrible pain, we would have to miss all the joy and love and beauty.
I think now of how fate only gave me two children. I wanted so many more. And they just...didn't come. But fate knew what it was doing. The pain of not having them come, it now seems like a scratch. Because the pain of having them forced to go, is....is just.. everything ripped apart...
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