Apparently, this is the time of year that my body just decides, "Hey! You know what you need? A cold! I'll get on that for you!"
This year's late winter cold was a gift from Hubby (as my mom said, he such a good sharer!). I tried to take care of him and myself while he was sick, but with school and work both being a bit nuts, I failed to protect myself from getting this bug.
On Thursday morning I had a sore throat and was starting to cough. That night Hubby made me grilled cheese and tomato soup, something my dad always did for me as a kid when I didn't feel well. By Friday I had a mild fever, my nose wouldn't stop running, and my throat still hurt. Hubby got me some more Nyquil and some orange juice, all the good stuff that would (hopefully) make me feel better. I took Thursday and Friday evenings off from homework, thinking that pushing myself would only make it worse. I guess I'll never know for sure, but it didn't seem to work that way at all.
Saturday was definitely the worst. By mid-afternoon I had already gone through almost 2 boxes of tissues and was so hot that I wanted to turn on the a/c (but settled for Hubby bringing me an ice pack to cool my neck/back). No matter how I felt, I still had to get homework done and study for an exam on Sunday, so I did my best to push forward. It was stressful to say the least, and that night I got to a max temp of 101.3 (not terrible, thank goodness, but enough). I tried to sleep, but it took me over an hour to finally crash (even with Nyquil). Even then, I was waking myself up with coughing fits every few hours, and during one of the fits, I ended up changing my pajamas because I had sweat through them. Lovely.
I felt better when I woke up Sunday, but I still felt pretty crappy. Somehow I managed to get a 97% on my exam, even feeling like shit, and that kicked off my spring break week. It was a lazy afternoon (complete with 3-hour nap), which was beautiful. I've been slowly feeling better since then (even though my voice hasn't gotten the memo), but have still been waking up with coughing fits. When I was little, waking up coughing meant that Mom would take me into the living room, give me a hard candy to suck on and put me in her lap while she sang to me. These days it means trying not to wake Hubby up (which, really, I shouldn't be too concerned about; he sleeps through anything), and trying to get the coughing spell over with as quickly as possible to maximize sleep time before the alarm goes off and work becomes a reality. When a fit woke me up at about 6 this morning, I almost didn't bother getting out of bed. I hoped maybe it would resolve itself, but it didn't. And now I'm paying for it, groggily sliding through the day, hoping that I can make enough sense out of things to get by until I can sleep again.
Here's hoping that you and yours are all feeling better than we have the past two weeks... Well, except Maxine. She's doing just fine. :)