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saxbrightwellIt's pretty common for me to get sick around Christmas. I always see my family who live in another province, whether we go to them or they come to us, and we all swap cold viruses with which to ring in the New Year. This was a "come to us" year, which was the only easy thing about the holiday this time.
I had to put my 17-year-old dog to sleep. The writing had been on the wall since June, but a pair of prescription painkillers helped his last legs carry him much farther than I expected! That extra time was precious, and finite, and ran out 2 days before Christmas.
That alone would have made for a heavy week, but then other family members were beset by serious health events. By the time my sister went home again we were making jokes at each other about what a month the week had been. By the time my parents left I was battling an incipient cold which then laid me dramatically low.
I don't think I had COVID? Testing is no longer easy to access, but I've had verified COVID in the past and this didn't feel the same. It certainly wasn't influenza. I think it was just a garden-variety cold virus having a particularly vigorous party in the body of someone sad and tired. And did it ever party: nose and sinuses and throat and ear canals and larynx and lungs, up and down and all around, leaving so much disgusting yellow crud (hence the name) in its wake that clearing it left me more exhausted than the bug itself.
I was mostly better by Tuesday of this week, enough to work, albeit masked because I still had laryngitis and needed to blow my nose sometimes. I'd say I'm all the way better today, really - but still sad. I picked up my dog's ashes today, and a terracotta impression of one of his little paws, and dropped off most of his things that were clean and in good shape for donation. I don't expect to own another dog for a long time, if ever; if that day comes, shopping for new supplies will be a pleasure, not a chore.
One could see this as an inauspicious beginning to the year, but I'm choosing to see my bout with The Crud as more "out with the old, in with the new." I have a metaphorically sore heart and a literally sore upper respiratory tract, but The Crud has passed on and I'm still standing.
And still writing! I won't jinx myself by saying anymore that book 5 is almost done, but I am still nurturing a small spark of excitement for eventually sharing a new story, confident that I can let that spark grow soon.
I had to put my 17-year-old dog to sleep. The writing had been on the wall since June, but a pair of prescription painkillers helped his last legs carry him much farther than I expected! That extra time was precious, and finite, and ran out 2 days before Christmas.
That alone would have made for a heavy week, but then other family members were beset by serious health events. By the time my sister went home again we were making jokes at each other about what a month the week had been. By the time my parents left I was battling an incipient cold which then laid me dramatically low.
I don't think I had COVID? Testing is no longer easy to access, but I've had verified COVID in the past and this didn't feel the same. It certainly wasn't influenza. I think it was just a garden-variety cold virus having a particularly vigorous party in the body of someone sad and tired. And did it ever party: nose and sinuses and throat and ear canals and larynx and lungs, up and down and all around, leaving so much disgusting yellow crud (hence the name) in its wake that clearing it left me more exhausted than the bug itself.
I was mostly better by Tuesday of this week, enough to work, albeit masked because I still had laryngitis and needed to blow my nose sometimes. I'd say I'm all the way better today, really - but still sad. I picked up my dog's ashes today, and a terracotta impression of one of his little paws, and dropped off most of his things that were clean and in good shape for donation. I don't expect to own another dog for a long time, if ever; if that day comes, shopping for new supplies will be a pleasure, not a chore.
One could see this as an inauspicious beginning to the year, but I'm choosing to see my bout with The Crud as more "out with the old, in with the new." I have a metaphorically sore heart and a literally sore upper respiratory tract, but The Crud has passed on and I'm still standing.
And still writing! I won't jinx myself by saying anymore that book 5 is almost done, but I am still nurturing a small spark of excitement for eventually sharing a new story, confident that I can let that spark grow soon.
