So, yes, I’ve been out of the game for a few days, but I’ve done some things, honest, including reading (almost) three books, completely screwing my body clock, attending an awesome gig, making a 2a.m. dash to A&E, and generally having a random old time of it.
Did you miss me?
After a night with a whopping three hours sleep, Thursday was a regular day in school, but the mild cold that had started brewing on Wednesday bumped up a good few notches – cue much comedy as I employed a tambourine to maintain class discipline (hey, it worked :-)). I felt out of it, but managed to get through the day and tutoring in the evening, before coming home and collapsing. And not falling asleep till three a.m.. Dagnamit!
Unsurprisingly, I awoke on Friday feeling (and no doubt looking) like refried ass. I called in for cover, and the minute I hung up at 7.20 fell straight to sleep for 5 hours and woke up feeling….just as bad. The rest of the day passed it fitful sleeps, a dash to Tescos (well, as fast as a sick woman can dash) for tissues etc., and lots of reading (luckily by evening my temperature was back to normal – I hate having a fever!). I finished This Book Will Save Your Life, the whole of The Dirty Bits For Girls, and made a start on Love Is A Mix Tape (which is fab. On Saturday I spent almost an hour in the bath reading this!). Dull but necessary stay at home stuff, and another late night as the snuffles prevented my getting rest earlier on.
Saturday I call in for cover again – two and a half hours of R.S. with a headaches, a snifflearama and some major muscle pullage was not on my cards. And then I spent four or five hours deciding whether or not to go through to Oxford to see Jean, as we’d arranged. Yes, I was tired, ill and rundown, but I was also weary of being stuck in my flat (stir crazy, much?). So I decided to make a decision later in the afternoon. Around lunchtime my muscles really started to spasm and give me shooting pains, but I wasn’t unduly concerned right then. Sure, it was unusual that the act of standing, or moving a paperback, was causing pain, but I pull muscles all the time. No problem.
At five I decided that yes, I’d go through to Oxford. Jean and I could grab some dinner, catch the early gig we’d got tickets for, and be back for an early night. So long as I bundled up and hit the OJ hard, it would all be good. So that’s what I did. The gig was amazing – the headliner was a guy call Frank Turner, who was stunningly good. He does punky-pop-indie-politico-folk stuff, and was on fine fine form. Jean and I arrived just as the second support act were finishing up (Captain Black – what I heard, I liked, and I will investigate further), and managed to get pretty great standing places right at the front. If we’d wanted to we could have touched the band. The first half of the set passed brilliantly, and I had a blast despite my wobbliness, but about six songs in I started to feel really faint…cue a dash to the loos, a minor collapse, and a slightly panicked Jean! After some more OJ (nectar of the gods) I decided that I would sit in a little hideyhole at the back, near where they were selling teeshirts etc. and I could still hear everything, and Jean could still enjoy the gig. Despite the fact that my shoulder was soooore and I was feeling under par, I’m so glad we stayed – Frank played brilliantly, and after the gig Jean and I got to talk with him and his band and the guys from Captain Black (one of whom, Johnnie, it turns out, had attempted to sell me along with the teeshirts while I perched in my hideyhole, haha) – a really, really, really top group of blokes. Talented and nice. Great combo!
Then we walked home, and I dipped again. But we made it home, and then the real fun began. You see, when I’m standing at the mo by shoulder hurts a wee bit. When I’m sat it’s pretty damn sore. When I’m lying down, however, every movement anywhere, every cough, every breath, provokes a stabbing pain through my whole right shoulder so delightfully painful that it actually brings tears to the eyes. Impressively random, non? So I could not get to sleep at all, and after two hours of my trying, we decided to make a dash to the A&E.
We saw a nurse really quickly, and then, in the grand tradition of the NHS, came the waiting. At least our wait perked up considerably when a posse of Aussies and Canucks rocked up, one of them requiring stitches after an altercation with a pot. Yep, you read that sentence right. Three hours later I was seen by my (extremely cute, may I add?) doctor, who does all the tests for strains and sprains and collapsed lungs and all that jazz, and in the end sends me packing with best wishes and some heavy duty anti-inflammatories and the immortal line “I have no idea what’s wrong”. He did tell me to see my GP Monday though, so tomorrow? I’m going to register with a GP. Finally, at 6 a.m. we got back to Jean’s, and the drugs managed to calm the pain down enough to get some rest.
This afternoon it was lunch with Jean and a good long chat; the bus and a lift home; then getting things done slowly around the house; a call home to the parentals; and the season finale of Grey’s Anatomy. My mother is not impressed with my not being well (she always thinks I work too hard – I don’t agree). She also told me to tell the doctor tomorrow that my nana was hugely susceptible to pleurisy, a condition I’m currently exhibiting factors for, she informed me – shallow, chesty cough; muscle pain in the upper torso; repeated cold like symptoms over several months. I sincerely doubt that’s what this is (is pleurisy even hereditary?), but thanks for the info, mum! Haha, how Victorian – trust me to exhibit vintage illness conditions!
So that’s me….and now I’m going to try and get some rest (after some more meds). All a bit half-power here at the mo, but I wanted to check in – I hope you all had a lovely weekend and wish you a wonderful week to come :-).