Tag Archives: sore throat

The Funeral

20 Jan

Yesterday was unusual. Not bad, not exceptionally good, just unusual.

I have not felt up to snuff the last couple of days. I’ve been very, very tired – a sort of “hitting the wall” exhaustion – and had a scratchy throat all day yesterday. This morning I have a full-fledged catarrh of the throat – swallowing hurts, my ears hurt, the whole nine yards. Today was the Annual Meeting at church, so I was just as glad to have a reason not to slog through the rain and wind.

The deceased and her mom had been estranged for many, many years, and even though the daughter had cancer they had never patched things up. When her wheelchair was pushed up to the coffin, Mom spent quite a while apologizing to her daughter. Public displays always make me “itchy” and while I certainly should have been more sympathetic, I couldn’t help wondering why all this wasn’t done when the poor girl was still alive. Cancer does give you plenty of time to set thing in order.

The fellow in front of us during the service played with his cell phone the entire time. Even when we all stood and put our hands over our hearts when the military Honor Guard  folded the flag and presented it to the wife, he didn’t get to his feet until his wife poked him, and only transferred his phone to the other hand so he could continue his texting.

I wonder why people like that even show up.

You know, every year, my Lenten discipline is to try to be less judgmental.  I am not making much progress.

You Talk Too Much

3 Apr

 

Last night was absolutely dreadful! I was in a terrible amount of pain from my throat, and was up and down several times, trying to either relieve the soreness, or just get myself bombed enough to sleep in spite of it. I even took a painkiller that had been given to me when I had my throat operation. It’s a wonder I didn’t poison myself! Not that I’d have cared at that point.

The doctor checked me out and we got that squared away – lungs clear, blowing my nose was unproductive, yadda, yadda.

I am still reading Dr. Warraich’s book, Modern Death, and we batted around our various horror stories. He had one patient who was braindead, and the family agreed to remove the tubes and machines. “How long will it take?” “Most people die within two or three days. Some longer and some shorter.” The machines were disconnected – and the family waited. And waited. And waited.

The woman began breathing on her own, and then sat up. She was completely lucid – other than the fact that she was convinced it was the early 1950s.  She discussed the place where she worked, believed Eisenhower was the President, knew where each of the children went to school, and was convinced her oldest son was her husband.

After a few days, she lapsed back into a come, only to awaken a few days later – in the 60s.  She woke up, a decade at a time. The doctor said she was just rebooting. Verrrry slowly. She recovered completely and walked out of the hospital, hale and healthy.

By the time The Squire and I sat down to whatever meal it was, my throat hurt so much  from chattering away that I couldn’t eat, and forget about talking. If nothing else, I’ve dropped several pounds with this plague. We have knitting on Monday evenings and Thursday mornings, and I’d missed Thursday’s get-together, but I was in no shape to go out tonight.  The Squire, bless him, offered to run to town and get my medicine (why do they give people with sore throats such BIG pills? Yeesh!) and drop off some stuff for the knitting group.

Sometimes, I look at him in complete wonderment. Where did he learn to be such a perfect husband, and what did I ever do to deserve his love?

The Plague and I

2 Apr

Since last Wednesday night I have been grappling with either the world’s worst cold or a case of strep. Probably the latter.

I called a friend from church on Wednesday evening and told her I wouldn’t be at knitting in the morning, and spent most of Thursday curled up in bed with hot tea and warm oatmeal.

The Squire kept me well supplied with books, tissues, and soft food. I’ve eaten a lot of scrambled eggs this week, I’ll tell you!  He even fixed me what passes for scrapple in our house, bless him. Oh, I am so lucky to be married to that man!

When you come down to it, I felt well enough to go to church this morning, but I can’t talk (oh! the horror!) and we’ll just draw a curtain over my attempts to sing. I had called a friend to serve as chalice bearer this morning, but he sent me an email at 10:05 saying he wouldn’t make it. (Seervices start at 10:00, so that was no help at all.)  If I’d known in time, I’d have shoveled myself into a heap and gone anyway. As long as somebody else read for me, we’d have managed.

I already have an appointment with the doctor for tomorrow, so while he checks my latest meds, I can have him take a look as my throat.

 

Not Too Smart

15 Nov

When we went to bed last night I mentioned to The Squire that my throat was a little scratchy.

I woke up this morning with a full-fledged, whiz-bang of a sore throat. My uvula is so swollen it chokes me when I lay flat on my back, and when I try to sleep on my side the blood flowing past my ears makes me feel as if I have my head underwater – swoosh, swish, swoosh, swish – and I feel as if my lungs aren’t working properly. I must have been tossing around like a rowboat on the high seas, instead of my usual is-she-dead-or-alive flat on my back position, because The Squire had decamped to the guest room at some point. Obviously, I was more soundly asleep than I realized, as I didn’t even know he was gone until the dog woke me at 6 AM.

From all the signs, going out to look at the moon the other night in my housecoat and bare feet wasn’t very wise of me.