Sunday morning, around four, I woke up feeling...odd. Then I swallowed. Or rather, I attempted to swallow. Apparently, while I slept, a ninja had snuck in and sliced my throat from ear to ear.
Strange how there wasn't any blood.
I trudged on to Sunday School, but before the service could really get started, I had to leave. Feverish and probably contagious, I figured no one would love me if I made them ill.
Last night was one of the worst nights I've had in years. I would go to sleep, only to awaken ten to twenty minutes later with a sound much like a startled hog snorting. (I apologize to those of you that until now thought of me as a sex symbol).
My throat would literally close up and I would choke. This went on all ding dang night.
My poor husband was up and down, trying to be helpful and listen to me whine. At least I wasn't loud, I could barely speak for the pain. But I know it must already be growing old, he ain't Martha Stewart, cooking and cleaning...okay, leave off the cleaning.
Needless to say I went to the doctor post haste today and got medication and sympathy. Soft foods only, cold things, no spicy things...I mean, really? You think you had to tell me no hot n spicy when I already feel like I'm a failed fire eater?
I have taken more ibuprofin than is legal, and I am weaving in my seat as I type.
I guess that's my cue to go back to bed.
See you on the other side of pitifulness.
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