So, my stepson is running a 104.3° temperature, probably the same illness that ran through the household over the past 2 weeks. I know this nasty little fucker of a bug, because it kicked my ass the length and breadth of Christendom.
It presented as a really ugly little chest/head cold, and while everyone else moved on from there, I was so fortunate as to develop a sinus infection so voluminous that it filled one ear. For the past week, I have have not been able to use the Bi-PAP machine for my sleep apnea, as my nasal passages are a perpetual all-mucus version of the Santa Monica Freeway during rush hour.
In addition, haven’t smelled or tasted anything in 2 weeks, and for the past week, I haven’t heard a damn thing out of one ear. Naturally, the chest congestion has provoked a great deal of coughing, which my leg takes as a cue to go batshit crazy.
In short, I haven’t tasted or smelled anything in weeks, can’t hear out of one ear, can’t sleep for shit (and the little I do is without the benefit of the machine that shoves air down my throat when my brain randomly turns off the breathing), and my leg is on fire.
Fortunately, today marked the return of two of my senses, as I had the best-tasting meal in weeks for dinner. In the interest of full disclosure, everything else has tasted like paper, so it’s all relative. Naturally, since I felt better, it was my stepson’s cue to spike the aforementioned 104.3° fever.
This brings me to the drive-thru at McDonald’s, where I was waiting for a Shamrock Shake™ to soothe Gabe’s burning throat and cool him off a little. I still wasn’t 100% – or even 75% – but hey, I was better than the 38% I’ve been at.
Which was the universe’s cue to send some mouth-breathing doof barreling up the drive-thu lane in his gigantic Jeep Overcompensator™ to smash into me so hard he stove the trunk in 2 feet deep. You wouldn’t think someone could build up that kind of kinetic energy between the First Window and the Second, but there I was, slammed back into my seat as my car shot forward, jolted right out of the drive-thru lane entirely.
My leg, never one to miss an opportunity, erupted into white-hot agony, blasting right through the protective layer of oxycodone like it was Pez, a state I currently enjoy.