We spent the whole weekend resting. No housework, no outings (except to see Steve on Friday night but we were home by seven), Grace has had two naps a day and I've had one or two myself. Simple healthy food. We're trying to be nice to each other too. Not always easy when you're sick and grumpy and a bit tired of it all. Or you're only two and you don't understand why you can't run all the time.
I decided not to go to work today. And felt a bit guilty. Then when I rang one of the teamleaders this afternoon to say that I was taking tommorrow off as well, I found out that four people had called in sick today, which in a small office like ours is quite a lot. So if I'd gone to work, it would have been really hard, more guilt. But basically I felt like shit unless I was lying down. Lying down is OK. As is looking at Flickr, messing with the camera and reading blogs, but only for a little while. Anyway my teamleader asked if I'd been to the doctor, he has to ask because we have an attendance strategy, and I said that I couldn't get an appointment until Tuesday. But that if I miracloulously felt better, I'd ring in the morning and let them know that I was coming to work. I then told him that I'd been sick for three weeks (he's been on holiday) and that I was well and truly over it, that I seemed to be catching every new bug that walked in the door, and that Grace and Gerard had it now as well. And that I was beyond soldiering on. He sighed.
But truly, I worked out tonight that I've actually had this cold for four weeks. I know I'm not the only one, the supermarket this afternoon was full of people who looked like the walking dead. Why do we keep going? I know a cold isn't that serious for most people, but this soldiering on for weeks is rubbish. A few days, OK. If I'd stayed at home in the first place I mightn't have passed it on, I wouldn't have let my system get so run down. I wouldn't have had so many weeks of feeling like crap warmed up. It's crossed my mind that if there was a really serious influenza outbreak that it'd probably start like this, with everybody still going to work, still going out and about.
Being sick is innately depressing too and I was starting to feel my moods slip below what's normal for me. Little things were throwing me and big things were devastating. Now that I've had four days in a row with at least ten hours sleep (8 at night, 2 napping) my mental state has gone from precarious to fine. I still feel physically ill and a bit sad because it's September, but I don't feel on the edge. In fact, I'd say that lightness and a sense of optimism are returning. Happiness even. Alongside the sadness. Indeed I seem to be able to feel the sadness properly, if that makes sense. Let this be a lesson to me.
And can I just say a heartfelt thank-you to those who commented, emailed or otherwise shared about my last post. Sometimes it all tumbles out and it really does help to have a place for it to fall.