I've been thinking a lot the past few days about childhood memories and things with my past. On Tuesday evening, I wasn't feeling very well, so I skipped my usual internet activities in favor of a quiet evening. When I went to work on Wednesday, I was feeling worse and a cough had settled into my chest. I'd been there about 45 minutes when my boss came to my desk and suggested I go home. I put up a token argument, then gladly followed her suggestion.
I went to bed; I don't like taking naps, but I slept around 4 hours, got up feeling even worse. I took some Dayquil (all hail the mighty Q) and hoped to feel better in the morning. I didn't. Called in to work (this is Thursday now), then ran an errand (FYI? Massachusetts RMV has the -stupidest- system I've ever worked with), then went to the local walk-in clinic I'd seen back in February for bronchitis.
Things were... strange. I expected them to give me a nebulizer treatment, an antibiotic, tell me to drink lots of fluids and get some rest. I expected it to be more bronchitis. Around 2pm, after I'd been there for 2 hours, they informed me that they were very very concerned about my pulse rate and blood pressure, and that they wanted to send me downstairs to the ER (Our walk-in clinic is in a hospital) for intravenous fluids and a chest x-ray.
I won't recount the details of the afternoon. As frustrating and exhausting as the whole experience was, I am still impressed by the hospital's staff. The ER was incredibly busy, and we were still done around 6 hours after I walked in the door at the walk-in clinic upstairs.
Chest x-rays and so forth revealed either pneumonia or pneomonitis in both lungs. I was told one then the other, and both are on my discharge paperwork. For the sake of simplicity, we'll say I have pneumonia.
Now. The reason for all this leadup. I have not had pneumonia as an adult. I've had bronchitis a number of times, but the last time I suffered from actual pneumonia, I think I was around 14. Thinking back over my childhood, I can distinctly remember 7 times, being sick with this illness, not counting the times I was hospitalized with it as a toddler.
This week, I have missed my mother a lot. Roho has provided exceptional care, don't get me wrong! But I have intensely strong memories of my mother bathing my fevered brow, setting up a humidifier next to my bed with pillows and wedges to lift my torso to clear my breathing, pounding my back for me. I think it was Friday that Bren went out and got some ice cream for me, reminiscent of the ice cream in flat sprite my mother used to make when I was sick.
I have much stronger associations than I ever expected to, of lung disorders with my mother's touch, and I miss her a great deal right now. This is probably exacerbated by the book I'm reading, as I developed my love for this author from her influence, but.. that's another post.
I would like to turn this into some sort of deep, insightful post, but.. to be honest, I'm still very ill, and I'm really just missing my mother. I guess this is a message to all you moms out there... your daughters may move away and marry (or find a significant partner), and as wonderful as their SOs take care of them, it's just not the same.
And yes. Bren is taking excellent care of me. I am going to attempt to go back to work tomorrow, we'll see how I manage.