113 – sick daze

There are some things that remain true in life no matter what you do;

  • Your best hair days will always be when you are alone – not seeing anyone and certainly with nowhere to go.
  • Your worst hair days will always coincide with important meetings, formal events and your most ‘public’ days.
  • When you have no money you will be bombarded with things you want to buy every where you go, ‘essential’ shoes, great dresses, new tattoos – whatever – you want it all!
  • When you do have a bit of disposable income you will find nothing you want.
  • People will always ‘pop in’ for a spontaneous catch up when the laundry couch is at its peak volume and height.
  • Conversely – when the house is spotless and looking like a photo shoot for ‘Your home and Garden’ everyone will be out of town.
  • There is always someone around when you fall off your heels.

I could go on but I won’t,

The same is true for teachers and illness. Mostly teachers don’t get sick during term time. We just power through because there’s so much to get through. Getting sick means lessons get shoved back, due dates are messed with and relief needs to be set. And setting meaningful relief is trickier than you think. So of course it makes sense that teachers get sick in the holidays and spend the time they have off recuperating. I thought I had gotten away with it this time – the lads got sick, some of my colleagues got sick, but I seemed to be cruising along scot-free this time!

Aha! The heavens laughed at me, it was not to be! You think you can just relax now you are back and school and busy as a busy thing? Not you! No. Not me.

On Tuesday night, high on homemade chocolate and small boy love, I got my boot camp gear all ready in its spot, packed my lunch for the next day and went off to bed to dream of upcoming meetings and the first day back of the mindfulness course on Wednesday night. I tossed and turned and couldn’t get comfortable all night, I was hot and achey and tired and yet unable to sleep.

I was already awake when my alarm went off at five (don’t worry I don’t normally get up at 5 – I was getting up early to put a casserole on for dinner because I was going to be out AGAIN that night and the poor GD had been doing all the dinners) so I got up, assembled the chicken casserole, changed in to my boot camp gear and drove off to boot camp. All the while feeling REALLY queasy and weird. I thought it was a case of too much homemade chocolate love – a hangover of sorts. But I felt SO weird sitting waiting in the dark for the other girls to arrive that I texted our instructor that I couldn’t do it that day and drove straight back home to bed.

I have not yet gotten out of bed, although I am now – after being very pathetic at the GD and him taking pity on me – eating a piece of peanut butter toast after nil by mouth for 48 hours. Up until about an hour ago all I had had was boiled water out of the jug because even the thought of anything else made me want to heave. Remember the lurgy the lads suffered while I was too far away to help in Christchurch? And me being more than a little pleased it wasn’t my problem in my blog afterwards? Well Karma is a motherfucking biatch.

Body aches, cramping, an essential ‘clearing out’ of my system from both ends, dizziness and headaches plagued me all day and night. I couldn’t lie in one position for too long because it hurt all of my joints so I slept fitfully, all the while very conscious of what I was missing at work – 72 emails later I may have caught up with what I need to be doing when I get back.

I am now feeling more human again (thank the goddes) but am still in bed because I’m not yet my ‘best self’. One of the weird side effects of this sort of illness though is that my skin isn’t red for once in my life, my tummy is flat like a teenage girls and my hair never looked so good! Go figure.

In about an hour I’ll go have a shower, wash my hair and face and go back to being the frizzy-haired, flakey, red-skinned, pot bellied foodtard you all know and love.

I have to go now – my children are literally crying over spilt milk and as they know I’m awake and semi-functioning I have to go and ‘mother’ them.

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