It all began with a familiar, and unwelcomed, niggling tickle in the back of my throat late Monday morning. ‘Great,’ I thought, I’m catching a cold.’ I knew who the culprit was. He had been snuffling and sneezing all weekend. His protestations of ‘It’s just allergies, Mom,’ meant nothing.
Monday afternoon found me snuffling and sneezing as well. I quickly countered with orange juice, cold medicine and the time-honoured cure-all, homemade chicken soup. OK, so it wouldn’t cure my cold, but at least it would keep me functioning while the virus had its wicked way with me. That was the plan, anyway.
During the night however, this uninvited guest made itself at home and by morning every cavity in my head was completely dammed up. The pounding in my head was excruciating and I was reduced to a whimpering shell of my former self. I just managed to pull myself together long enough to phone my job and inform them I wouldn’t be in.
When the fever, chills and body aches arrived a little while later and began unpacking their luggage, I began to suspect that this ‘cold’ might actually be the flu.
The rest of the week passed in a hazy blur. My activities consisted of sleeping, self-medicating and flipping the pillow over and over trying to find the ‘cool’ side.
By Saturday I was finally on the mend. I was still a bit feverish and headachy but my body had stopped aching and the light no longer hurt my eyes.
What has all this got to do with needlework? Nothing. Nothing at all. Which is why it’s filed under ‘Loose Threads’.
Why did I write this in the first place? Simple. My family lost interest in my illness early in the week and the combination of forced quarantine (I haven’t set foot outside the house since Monday) and lack of attention has made me a little squirrely. My only companion through all this has been Two-Face Bob. Attentive, patient and a great listener. If only all men could be like him.