Monday was bad.
I kept both Darling and myself up for a large portion of the night with my hacking and wheezing, so as soon as the sun was up, he proposed my going to the doctor like, now. That sweet man even called and scheduled an appointment for me – that’s what a honey he is. So, I ran off to clinic bright and early with hopes of antibiotics dancing in my head, only to learn that it was viral.
Spent the rest of the day moaning and coughing.
Oh, and puking.
It started with the “breakfast” I felt compelled to pick up on my way back from the doctor’s office. I was really hungry for eggs, and thought I’d just get the Big Breakfast™ from McDondalds®, eat the eggs and biscuit, and toss the rest.
Well, I suppose I did do just that, in a manner of speaking.
I was back in bed, recovering from the hurl-tastic deed when the fun started. Cutting through the quiet of the upstairs hallway, I heard the tell-tale “hwaach hwaach” sounds of little Kokoro losing his own breakfast.
“Oh noooooooooo,” I moaned.
I raced into the hall and scooped his little wheezing form into the bathroom, and shut us in. He proceeded to produce his mess, and watching, mesmerized, I realized I was going to do the same. Puke #2.
Kokoro, terrified by the horrible sounds his normally calm, sweet-voiced human was making, cowered on the snow-white mat in front of the shower, and loosed his bowels. I took little notice of him until the smell hit me.
I whipped my head around to look at him. “Oh gawd!” I moaned. At least I was still in position for puke #3.
Monday was bad.