"Disease generally begins that equality which death completes." - Johnson
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Wrapping myself in three blankets had left me roasted and soggy but didn't stop the violent shivering. Without any premonitory symptoms the spasms started about noon Wednesday.
Save for a few interludes I was cold and tired the next two days as my antibodies and the virus waged war with one another. What little I remember is a patchwork of crap from TV and dreams about catching a serial killer and meeting a ceramic man who could pop into pieces.
Friday was much better. Tired in the morning and evening but comfortable most of the afternoon. Thought I could probably make it into work Saturday.
But I took off my compression stockings late Friday afternoon. My left leg had swollen hugely. The red sheen suggested it was being marinated for a cannibal barbeque. So Iím living in a recliner now with my leg propped up on a cushion and a couple of pillows.
The worst part is getting up to go to the bathroom. I lower my foot to the floor and sit two or three minutes. When I stand on the leg pain throws me back in the chair. Usually on the second attempt my lower leg is sufficiently adapted to the increased hydraulic pressure that the pain is tolerable. After moving around a bit it is mostly only uncomfortable. I can make it, say, to the corner store a fraction of a block away.
It is fucking awful. Iím not the tearful type but Iíve felt like I was about to start crying a couple of times.
Tomorrow Iíll call my doctor. I suspect Iíll be going to the shiny, competent, very expensive world of Duke Hospital for time on the leg pump and a few bags of Lasix. Iíve wanted to be away from the shop but hospitals donít make good vacation venues. And every workday Iím away from the shop books donít get cataloged, less money is made.
All of the above is deeply annoying. But it isnít going to kill me and will be fixed easily enough.