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amulI had to miss Windy Con due to some horrible disease, which we're assuming is Strep Throat (we being Lacuna Diving Bunny and I). Windy Con is something of an anniversary for LDB and I anyway, so she'd arranged to take extra time off work, only to have to spend all of it looking after me.
The hot/cold flashes and dizzy spells at least kept me occupied - the struggle to keep my vision clear, the tedious repetition of putting on and taking off layers of clothes. At least it was something to do. Once my tongue and lymph nodes swelled to the point where my tongue could not fit inside my mouth without flexing the muscle, all that I really could do was breath. It was kind of strange. My nostrils were relatively clear, but since my mouth had to be open, the body's urge was to breath through the mouth, which was more painful but less effort.
So I asked LDB to come over and look after me. Since moving out on my own, I've become quite independent about being sick. It's not really something I want anyone to help me with. While I have my pride, it isn't blind, so I can reach a point where I acknowledge, Okay, I need help.
So LDB spent Friday trying a variety of medicines on me while I tried to explain to her that there was no sense of congestion, that the expectorants she kept suggesting were useless. I hadn't tried actually talking to anyone in three days at that point, and the sound of my own voice sort of frightened me.
We did figure out that hot fluids (eg, hotter than room temperature) went down smoothly and were almost a comfort, whereas cold fluids had to be choked down in tiny sips that left me coughing up phlegm and spasming with pain (which is why LDB kept wanting me to take expectorants). So one plus side of this sickness is that I've spent the last three days drinking the premium blend hot chocolate mix that Priceless Pearl got me for my birthday.
Yesterday, I conceded to the inevitable and called my dad for help.
There's a bunch of thoughts about that which I'll write up later, since this is getting pretty long and I'm already pretty tired. But here's a few tidbits for you to mull over while you wait:
Since my parents, by oh-such-lucky coincidence, were driving into the city when I called, they offered to stop by. LDB and I had to do a thorough sweep of the apartment to get all the unmentionables hidden away and make it look like she hadn't been staying the last several days (since I had decided a while ago that I'd rather my parents know she was married than that we were dating). Here's a list of things we forgot to put away:
1. Cynthia's bra, which has been hanging on one of my kitchen cabinets so I don't lose it before she finally comes to get it.
2. The stack of bondage books on the table behind the sofa.
3. The set of silicon breasts drying in the bathroom
4. The bright silver, 7-inch, rotating rabbit vibrator on the desk in my bedroom.
5. The bottle of rum sitting next to the rabbit
6. The pile of free condoms sitting next to the rum.
7. The 18-oz bottle of Stolen Lube, also on that desk.
8. The three other, much less dramatically contained, bottles of lube on that desk.
edit:
9. A large pile of spanking toys on the living room floor which I'd just picked up at a yard sale.
Later, LDB referred to my dad as a "Dr Huxtable ripoff." I've never heard a more accurate description for the face he shows the world.
Okay, that was exhausting. More later.
The hot/cold flashes and dizzy spells at least kept me occupied - the struggle to keep my vision clear, the tedious repetition of putting on and taking off layers of clothes. At least it was something to do. Once my tongue and lymph nodes swelled to the point where my tongue could not fit inside my mouth without flexing the muscle, all that I really could do was breath. It was kind of strange. My nostrils were relatively clear, but since my mouth had to be open, the body's urge was to breath through the mouth, which was more painful but less effort.
So I asked LDB to come over and look after me. Since moving out on my own, I've become quite independent about being sick. It's not really something I want anyone to help me with. While I have my pride, it isn't blind, so I can reach a point where I acknowledge, Okay, I need help.
So LDB spent Friday trying a variety of medicines on me while I tried to explain to her that there was no sense of congestion, that the expectorants she kept suggesting were useless. I hadn't tried actually talking to anyone in three days at that point, and the sound of my own voice sort of frightened me.
We did figure out that hot fluids (eg, hotter than room temperature) went down smoothly and were almost a comfort, whereas cold fluids had to be choked down in tiny sips that left me coughing up phlegm and spasming with pain (which is why LDB kept wanting me to take expectorants). So one plus side of this sickness is that I've spent the last three days drinking the premium blend hot chocolate mix that Priceless Pearl got me for my birthday.
Yesterday, I conceded to the inevitable and called my dad for help.
There's a bunch of thoughts about that which I'll write up later, since this is getting pretty long and I'm already pretty tired. But here's a few tidbits for you to mull over while you wait:
Since my parents, by oh-such-lucky coincidence, were driving into the city when I called, they offered to stop by. LDB and I had to do a thorough sweep of the apartment to get all the unmentionables hidden away and make it look like she hadn't been staying the last several days (since I had decided a while ago that I'd rather my parents know she was married than that we were dating). Here's a list of things we forgot to put away:
1. Cynthia's bra, which has been hanging on one of my kitchen cabinets so I don't lose it before she finally comes to get it.
2. The stack of bondage books on the table behind the sofa.
3. The set of silicon breasts drying in the bathroom
4. The bright silver, 7-inch, rotating rabbit vibrator on the desk in my bedroom.
5. The bottle of rum sitting next to the rabbit
6. The pile of free condoms sitting next to the rum.
7. The 18-oz bottle of Stolen Lube, also on that desk.
8. The three other, much less dramatically contained, bottles of lube on that desk.
edit:
9. A large pile of spanking toys on the living room floor which I'd just picked up at a yard sale.
Later, LDB referred to my dad as a "Dr Huxtable ripoff." I've never heard a more accurate description for the face he shows the world.
Okay, that was exhausting. More later.
