When my husband got home from work, he waded through the messes of the day to where I lie motionless in our marriage bed.
"How are you feeling?" he inquired tenderly.
"I am febrile. My back is killing me." I held nothing back.
"Whoa, what's wrong with your face? It's all puffy. It didn't look like that this morning," he replied, a mixture of concern and repulsion in his voice.
"I'll be alright. Probably just a mild case of viral meningitis," I assured him, "which can actually be less serious than the normal flu. As long as you can be 100% certain it is not bacterial, in which case immediate hospitalization would be required."
He started to give me that look. So I hurriedly finished my google infused speech. "Unless of course there is any facial edema, which would indicate a possible case of encephalitis."
To which he immediately got up and started to leave the room. "O.K. I think we're done here. You sound like you're going to be just fine."
"Wait, no. It's my meninges. They're aching."
The door shuts.
I am alone with my flu.
Maybe I should text a quick update my Mom to let her know how I'm doing.
If I posted it to facebook she would get it just as easily.
And if she doesn't respond, I'll put it on my blog.
