Stupid Fever.

Earlier today, when I was overcome with the urge to double-up on my duvet coverage, it occured to me that perhaps – maybe, just maybe – I should break out the digital themometer and cram it under my tongue for a few minutes. I did, and discovered that I was not actually freezing to death, rather, my blood was beginning to boil within my body.

After watching the degrees rise and rise – until I hit 39.2C – I decided that my next best step might be to get over my aversion to Tylenol and pop a few caplets. It’s not that I’m specifically stubborn, it’s that pain meds of any type are not good for people with ulcers (or healed ulcers) and I find that taking any pain med causes me to experience more pain the next time I’m injured or sick.

So, anyway, I swallowed two extra-strengths and I changed into a tshirt and light cotton pants – all while staggering and shivering and trying not to either vomit or pass out. Did you know that being an adult, while sick, really and truly sucks? Because it does. All I wanted to do was huddle underneath my big fluffy feather duvet. Perhaps while wearing two sweaters and a scarf.

Coffee informed me that he was coming home during his dinner hour – to walk the dogs and make me something to eat – and my body apparently lept into action to kill off the fever. He had threatened to drag me (kicking and screaming and shivering) to some sort of medical facility if I didn’t stop burning up.

He arrived and I ate some ice cream and drank some water. And betwen the time he told me he was coming home and the time he left, my temperature dropped from 39.1 to 38.1. Clearly the answer to my problems is: ice cream and the presence of my beloved husband.

I think I like this remedy.