I got laryngitis again

You may or may not remember a post from a few months back when I got laryngitis. Well, it happened again. And this time not entirely due to my own stupidity.

I recently went on a business trip (first one – it was terrifying!). The first day in Ontario, I developed a scratchy throat; luckily nothing materialized throughout my 3 day stay. I returned home Wednesday night and also noticed a scratchy throat; I attributed it to dry airplane air. Friday night, I went salsa dancing and once again noticed pain in my throat. I chalked it up to me being thirsty from dancing up a storm.

After leaving dance, I stopped off at my local watering hole and met up with some friends; we then went back to one of their houses and continued the festivities until far too late.

I woke up on Saturday feeling off; I wasn’t hungover (as these stories typically end), since I hadn’t had much to drink. I felt like I had the beginning of a cold; the sore throat had finally materialized. When my stepmom called, I realized that I didn’t have full use of my voice. A telltale sign of what was to come.

I went to my folks place for dinner, but had to leave fairly early because I was feeling and my voice was getting increasingly worse. I may or may not have made the mistake of singing in my car on the way home.

On Sunday, it was ten times worse; the laryngitis was in full force. When my mom called, I could barely squeak out a conversation. Later that day, I needed food, but didn’t have the energy to cook (if I had food), shop (to go get food) or anything. I decided to order some take out, but realized that I literally couldn’t. I went down to the restaurant with everything they could possibly ask me written down on a piece of paper.

Monday was fortunately a holiday and fortunately my voice started resembling normalcy once again. Unfortunately, the cold had reached mammoth proportions. Overall, a great way to spend a long weekend.

I set myself up on the couch with all the drinking implements I could need throughout the day. I was laid up the entire day, racked with coughs, body aches and fever.

I pushed myself to go to work today, partially because I have great work ethic (*cough* LIAR *cough*), but mostly because my body physically couldn’t stand another day of lying around.

I barely made it halfway through my day before I tapped out and went home. So although I haven’t spent the entire day laid up, I’ve spent the better part of the day doing absolutely nothing.

Four days and counting; hoping tomorrow is a better day. Wish me luck, folks!

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Here’s my version of a Valentine’s Day post. Enjoy!

Being chronically single, there are definitely times where I really yearn to be with someone and then there are times where I’m thankful for being alone. I’m sure the same can be said for people who are in relationships as well.

For me, both of these extremes become very apparent when I’m sick. I spent the better part of this week sick at home, so it became very clear in my mind just how much (and how quickly) I can flip flop on this particular subject.

For example, when I was at home laying on the couch wishing for death, the only thing that could make it more bearable was some juice, or soup, or something. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to have someone come and take care of me.

I was too sick to fend for myself. This actually happens more than I care to admit. There have been so many instances that I’ve developed a coping mechanism. I don’t like to drink juice full strength; I like to water it down. It’s easier on the stomach, if that’s not doing so great.

So I set up shop on the couch; I grab my tetrapak of juice out of the fridge, a glass and fill up a 1L container of water. I bring all the things to the couch and fill up my glass as I need. I do need to get up from time to time to refill my water, but much less than if I actually had to fill my cup up every time. In fact, if I invested in a larger measuring cup, I could reduce those trips down even further. Food for thought.

I’m still pretty much fucked if I need to get something to eat, but let’s just say, I got reserves.

On the other hand, when I’m disgustingly sick and things are coming out of places that no one needs to see, I’m fairly happy that I live alone.

But those instances are usually few and far between, besides realistically, the person I’m with better be okay with holding my hair back and cleaning up some puke when I miss the toilet. Or the bathroom altogether.

But nothing makes it hit home quite like it did the other night. I was very sick; in a lot of pain, had a pretty bad fever and a terrible cough. Plus I was covered in hives (an unrelated, yet agonizing, matter).

Even though I drugged myself up to “get a good nights’ sleep”, I still woke up constantly with scratching or coughing. Or alternating between kicking the blankets off and then scrambling to get them back on because I was shivering. And if that wasn’t enough, rolling over caused enough pain from my massive body aches (and probably hives) that I actually groaned audibly.

My first thought was that I hoped my upstairs people couldn’t hear me and/or weren’t being woken up by my agony. My next thought went to what it would actually be like if I was in a relationship; what if I was sharing my bed with someone. Times like these, I know one thing is certain.

Meh – small price to pay to have someone bring me soup, right?

Sometimes… fun hurts.

As you know, Gorm and I (and sometimes others) get together for music day every now and then. What you might not know is that music day has become an integral part of my life; something I look forward to. It has come to be so that I depend on it. Unfortunately, this day can only be organized and executed on so much of a regular basis. Often enough, but at the same time the length between sessions leaves me longing for more and my fingers callous-less.

As a result, I’ve been known to be… somewhat reckless in my music day commitments.

About a year ago, I was battling a bit of a cold and music day was fast approaching. I was convinced the worst that could happen was that I wouldn’t get the rest I needed that night and I might be over-tired the next day.

I hadn’t had strep throat in about 18 years, so I dismissed my assumption almost as fast as I made it. The next day, I could no longer deny that I needed medical attention.

I went to the walk-in clinic on my way home from work. The doctor asked what was wrong; I said that I was pretty sure I had strep throat. All doctors seems to react the same way when you self-diagnose yourself. They tell you why it probably isn’t what you think it is. This doctor was no exception.

And then she looked in my mouth. She said she’d normally take a swab before prescribing antibiotics, but…

I left the office a little smug, having known what the problem was, but also a little scared because I really didn’t want scarlet fever. Again.

You’d think I would have learned from this experience. But like I said, I behave a little recklessly when music day approaches and I’m not feeling well.

I’d been fighting a cold and Friday night I noticed my voice was cracking. In an attempt to practice before music day, I tried playing, but found that I couldn’t sing very well (mostly that I couldn’t project my voice. At. All.). But I was convinced that the show must go on.

The following day, I woke up feeling pretty good. I went to music day and when I started singing, I found again that I couldn’t project my voice. But I soldiered on.

By the end of the session, I was croaking like a frog and sounded reminiscent of the pimply kid on The Simpsons.

Thanks Gorm.

I completely lost my voice for two days. I went to work on Monday and quickly realized just how much I talk at work on a day to day basis. I was told just how fucked up my voice sounded. I received pats on the back in sympathy when I squeaked out a response to their question. I may or may not have had laryngitis.

Despite the pain, ridicule and pity I received:

Having a rough go

I’m having a bit of a rough go right now. First off, it’s been super, super busy at work and it’s consuming my life way more than it normally does. It’s basically like the perfect storm as far as reasons why work gets busy. They’re all happening at once, causing an utter shit-show.

Top it off with the fact that I’ve come down with this brutal cold. It’s the kind of cold where you feel so crappy that you can’t sleep, even though what you need most in the world is a good night’s sleep.

Friday was the first day of that; I had a really sore throat and I couldn’t sleep. And when I finally managed to fall asleep I woke up within a couple hours and had problems falling back asleep.

Saturday I woke up for work (because of the chaos that is happening) and my sore throat had morphed into the worst throat pain ever. Okay, not the worst… Strep is worse. I started sucking on cepacols, which are essentially lozenges that numb your throat. Within a couple hours of being at work, I had already had a couple; by the end of my 6 hour shift, I’d had a few more. I stopped at a grocery store on my way to my dad’s to buy more because I was running low. Naturally, I had another.

Then my stomach started feeling bad. At first I assumed it was because I consumed a bunch of lozenges and not much else. But when I started trying to put other things in my body (water, tea, food), my stomach was not happy.

Immediately after eating dinner (and part of the way through it) I knew it was going to get way worse before it got any better. I thanked my folks for dinner and said I had to go, because of my cold, of course. I spent the 40 minute drive home focusing all my energy into paying attention to the road and not the fact that I was going to throw up and/or shit myself.

I made it home without incident, but spent the remainder of the night willing myself not to get sick. I was feeling pretty shitty about the whole situation, but I felt even worse when I read the package and the dosage was clearly outlined as “one drop every two hours”. I’d had 5 or 6 in just as many hours.

No wonder I wrecked my stomach. The next day, after too few hours of sleep, I woke up sick from the cold. My body was aching, my head was pounding; I felt like I’d been hit by a train. I drank fluids and stayed away from cough drops. I felt like I was on the mend.

Monday, I called into work sick because it turned out I wasn’t on the mend. But I had a massage therapy appointment booked that day, so I went to that. I’ve regretted it ever since. Let’s just say getting a deep tissue massage on all your injured parts isn’t a good idea when you’re having a hard time moving around because of body pain from illness. I feel like my back is bruised to the bone.

But… there’s always a silver-lining, right? So. I’ve been at home, on the couch, in bed for days. I’ve watched movies, read blogs/books, watched YouTube, and played video games. I was still bored. So I did what any “normal” person would do. I re-activated my POF account. And started talking to people.

Just a matter of time now before you get more crazy dating stories. You’re welcome.

And as if that’s not enough, I think the universe just gave me a sign that said “You have no idea just how bad it’s going to get”…  my (ex??) stalker just texted me. Seriously. It’s been a year and a half. I guess he missed Valentine’s Day, so he’s just checking in to see how I’m doing. FML.

Turns out there *is* a psycho bitch inside me

We’ve all heard it before… Women are crazy. And although I’ve met my fair share, I’ve also met my fair share of crazy men. Case. And point. Naturally, I thought the statement was an unfair stereotype. Until recently. I’ve since discovered that women are crazy. And I can be one of them.

It all started about 18 years ago when I was a hormonal teenager. I was crazy; flying off the handle for little to no reason, crying at the drop of a hat and in general, just being difficult to be around. A few years later, I went on birth control and stayed on it for nearly 10 years. Despite horror stories I’d heard about birth control, I never really experienced any side effects. During that period of being on the pill and the period of being off of it, I maintained a fairly even demeanor.

Fast forward to a month ago. I decided it would be best to go back on the pill, just in case. I went to my doctor and we discussed it. He gave me a script for the last pill I was on and said “Let’s see how it works for you this time… even though it worked for you in the past, doesn’t mean it’ll work for you now.” I had no idea what he was talking about.

It took me a week and a half to finally get it; I started losing it.

Something that would normally make me go “Oh that sucks” and bum me out a bit, now made me become a blubbering mass on my couch. The train of thought escalated to such a degree in my mind, that looking back, I have a hard time processing how I actually got there. But boy, oh, boy, did I get there.

This happened four times in less than a week. I was a wreck. Even at the time, I could look in on the situation from an outsider’s perspective and think “You’re acting crazy”, but there was nothing I could do about it.

Not only would I cry at the drop of a hat, I would also get seriously pissed off about things that would normally only irritate me slightly.

I truly thought I was losing my mind.

One day, as I was sitting on my couch having a pity party complete with tears and snot, I tried to think about the situation logically between sobs. “When did I start doing this? Why is this all such a big deal?”. I couldn’t figure out why I was suddenly a train wreck.

And then it hit me. I ran into the bathroom and grabbed my pill pack. I went psycho four days into taking the pill. Four days is probably just enough time for it to get into my system and start causing mayhem. I was so happy that I wasn’t crazy, that it was just the pills, that I spent the next two hours crying “because I was just so relieved”.

Doctors orders and internet research all yielded the same advice. It can take 2-3 cycles of being on the pill before you really know how your body is going to react. If after this time, you’re still experiencing side effects, you should switch brands and see how that one works for you.

I looked at this and thought I could potentially be a crazy bitch for the next 6 months to a year depending on how long it takes me to find something that works for me. My decision:

A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down

Here is the second installment of Heather vs Hot Dogs. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, go here. It may or may not help your understanding of this post.

My elementary school used to include swimming lessons as part of our PE class during the last month of school (when the weather could be warm enough to use the neighbourhood outdoor pool). On the last day of our lessons we had a picnic; we were instructed to bring our own hot dogs and buns to the picnic so they could get grilled up on the portable barbecue.

The thing about swimming for me is that it is an activity that leaves me ravenous. I knew this even as a young child. The morning of my last swimming lesson, my mom was packing my lunch and she asked me if I wanted one hot dog or two. Automatically, I said two; Mom was skeptical and said "But they're really big, are you sure?". I assured her that I was sure and that I would eat both hot dogs; she packed both hot dogs.

After swimming, we all piled out of the pool and into the park; I brought my lunch to my teacher. She looked skeptically at the lunch my mom had packed and asked if I was sure I wanted two hot dogs, they were really big after all. I assured her that I was sure and that I would eat both hot dogs; she grilled both hot dogs.

After getting my lunch back, I pulled up a piece of ground and started eating. I started out with gusto; I was going strong and two hot dogs were no match for me. Why anyone doubted the eating ability of an 8 year old girl was beyond me. That is until I got most of the way through the first one. With the first one firmly in my gut, I felt very full; I thought I just had to walk it off, make room for the second one. I started walking around the park, but the more I walked, the more nauseous I felt.

I was stumbling around the park, looking sick and carrying a hot dog. After a bit more stumbling, I started feeling really, really sick; I went into the bathroom, sure I was going to vomit. I walked into the stall and stared down at the toilet, willing myself not to throw up. Once I gained composure I took in my surroundings; I stared death in the face when I realized I was still carrying that blasted second hot dog.

I felt nauseous at the thought of eating it, I felt stupid for being so adamant that I could finish both hot dogs. I couldn't very well admit defeat, apparently something I've never been good at. I decided to put the hot dog in it's place. And I did. I flushed that bad boy down the toilet.

Since I was just a kid and didn't understand basic concepts such as indoor plumbing, I didn't break it up into small pieces and flush them one or two at a time. No, no. I literally flushed the entire hot dog down the toilet. I realized mid-flush that it may have been a mistake, but I went with it and down it went. I breathed a sigh of relief and skipped out of the bathroom with new found enthusiasm one can only get from narrowly escaping death's grip.

My teacher saw me shortly after, saw that I had no lunch left. She asked me if I had finished both hot dogs, I smugly replied that I had.

As our little conversation was wrapping up, another student came running up to the teacher and asked if she knew how to get parks people to come down; she asked the student why she thought the park ranger was required. The student replied that one of the toilets in the girl's washroom was clogged and was flooding the entire bathroom.

I guess it didn't go down as well as I thought.

Down Syndrome

I always have a hard time hitting publish for posts like these. But it's something I've been thinking about lately and I drew pictures and everything, so here it goes...

Depression is a bitch. It seems like it affects everyone at one point or another. Some people are clinically depressed and others just get a bout of it every so often.

I consider myself a pretty upbeat person, despite that, I struggled with depression a couple of months ago. Interestingly enough, I didn't realize what I was struggling with until I got out of it. That's probably often the case with rookies, such as myself.

A few months ago, I was super busy with school, spending time with family and friends and just generally maintaining a social life; I had no time for myself whatsoever. When school ended, I crashed.

At first, I thought I was just being lazy. I would spend entire weekends in bed; not because I was sick, I just had no drive to do anything. I wasn't seeing my friends, I wasn't calling anybody, I would leave the house only if someone dragged me kicking and screaming out of my comfy little rut.

This laziness quickly took over the work week and I found myself doing nothing 7 days a week. I thought I was burnt out, I thought I needed some time to regroup. After a month, I started questioning what was wrong with me.

I started forcing myself to go out and do things, to not go to bed as soon as I got home at night and to leave my house (and my bed) on weekends.

At first, I went through this schizophrenic battle every weekend, but eventually, I looked forward to going out and doing things. I kept up with it and soon enough I was back to my regular self. It was at that point that I realized I had been depressed.

Which has got me thinking about depression in general; a few people in my life, including my brother, struggle with it on a daily basis. My bout of depression was measured in weeks; my brother's depression is measured in years. I got out of my funk by giving myself a pep talk and making myself go out and do things. Danny is on medication and sees a psychologist; something tells me his depression is a bit more complex.

I could have used someone to give me a kick in the pants in order to get me out of my rut. But I think I'll get kicked to the curb if I become that person for my brother. He'll likely think I'm harping on him and no one wants to be around that. Can you blame them?

Where's the happy medium? How much is too much and how much is not enough? How do you know if you're making a difference, or making them distance themselves from you?

Video [games] killed the radio star

I've come to the conclusion that video games make me a bad person. And not in the fun way.

I don't play them all that often, so when I decide to turn on a game, it starts out innocently enough. I enjoy myself with the running and the jumping and whatnot. I question my reasons for not playing them on a more regular basis.

Eventually, I start dying; my once-healthy amount of lives start to dwindle and I become more critical of my actions.

I start becoming more and more serious and more and more frustrated (because I keep dying!) . In no time, I'm cursing at the TV (yes, it's the TV's fault) and chastising myself for being a loser.

Jump higher... not that high!

Run faster... wait, slow down!

Okay, calm down... why'd you walk right into him - what's wrong with you!?!?!?

I'm pretty sure my neighbours think I'm insane because, I tell ya, I'm not quiet about it. After awhile, I decide a break is in order; my blood pressure is probably higher than is good for me. I start puttering around the house, but if I need to use any kind of electronic device, I have instant frustration.

Boot up faster, computer! I said.... Internet, is that so hard? What? Do I need to click you four fucking times all of a sudden?

Hello?? I said eject. Why aren't you ejecting? Just give me the movie, blu-ray, why do you want to hold on to it so badly? Are you in love with it?

I pre-heated you like an hour ago... why aren't you hot yet? Oh, get over yourself, oven!!

Once I walk away from the computer/dvd player/oven/my life with frustration seeping out of my pores, I realize I might have a problem. I've become a meaner person; I've become a complete and total rager. It's best that I don't get behind the wheel when I'm like this; I'm liable to murder someone.

Luckily I only have two more worlds of Super Mario Brothers to get through.

Bored stiff

I'm home sick. Not 'homesick', but I'm at home. Sick. This is the second day in a row. Yesterday was a blur, I spent the entire day drifting in and out of unconsciousness. Today is better but remaining upright is a difficult feat and my attention span lasts minutes at best. I just realized that I made a cup of tea about 2 hours ago. It's sitting directly beside me and I didn't realize it was there until just now. I'm glad I didn't go into work today - any work that I 'completed' would have had to be redone. By the looks of it anyway.

The good news is that my headache has subsided to a dull roar, I've been conscious for nearly 3 hours, I feel as though only a small child is sitting on my chest preventing me from breathing, instead of the sumo wrestler that was there yesterday and earlier today. Things are looking up - I'm starting to feel better.  The bad news is that I'm bored out of my skull. I've read my book, read blogs, watched movies and stared at the ceiling above my bed. And it's barely the afternoon.

I'm hungry but lack the motivation and skill set to make food happen. I'm thirsty but my tea is cold and my water glass is empty. I would have to get out of bed and carry two glasses to the kitchen AND then carry them back. Seems like a lot of work. I'm in the middle of doing laundry. I started a load on Sunday night when I was still in denial of being sick. I finished drying it Monday morning when I thought I was going to work and decided that pants were probably a good idea. Now, I have one load on my bedroom floor and another load, presumably, still in the dryer. I heard the upstairs lady talking about laundry to her daughter yesterday. My lack of progress may or may not have been the subject of the conversation, but given how sick I am and how shitty at laundry she is, I don't care. I'll get pants when I want to get pants. Dammit. So there.

I told myself today that I would spend the day upright, so that when I go back to work tomorrow I'm not a miserable mass of a person. I've spent approximately 8 minutes upright today. And then back to bed I went. I'm really glad for this laptop that I bought... if it wasn't for this little beast, I wouldn't have been able to watch movies yesterday. Which ones? Well, I had a Marky Mark Marathon. Why? Well, he's an astounding actor, for one. For two, he's super hot and I might have slightly more than an unhealthy crush on him. I watched "Shooter" first, because he spends a lot of time with his shirt off. Next, I watched "Rock Star" because he spends a lot of time wearing leather pants and a leather jacket with not much else. I actually really like Rock Star. It's got Jennifer Aniston in it, playing pretty much the same girl that she always does, but it's a good story.

I just remembered about my tea. I think this may have been the most random string of words that I've ever put together in one post. Sick, laundry, tea, Marky Mark, and tea again. I'm not sure if I should post this monstrosity. Maybe I should draw some pictures too. That would make it more fun.

I just had a burst of energy. I got up and microwaved my tea and filled up my water glass. I also realized that I have fruit in the fridge and fruit is easy to eat (as in: put in bowl, wash, eat). But now I'm sitting down with half a pound of cherries, which is the first bits of solid food I've had since Sunday. This probably won't end well. I've also propped myself upright using pillows. That's progress, right?

Twitter has also become my best friend. You're only allowed 140 characters per post, which doesn't seem like much, but with my newly inherited short attention span, it really helps me from creating things like this (^). I would need like 75 twitter posts to make this happen. It would probably be infinitely more ... .... ... I actually forgot what I wanted to write. It's just gone. That thought lasted less than 30 seconds in this brain. God help me.

Coherent!! Infinitely more coherent. How ironic.

I don't think I want to start calling twitter posts 'tweets' I know that's what all the cool kids call it, but I feel like it's kinda like Starbucks; I simply just do not want to get the lingo down. It's a culture I'm not sure if I'm into.  Surely it would be easier than calling them twitter posts, but I'm not sure I care. I might feel differently in half an hour.

Anyway, I'm going to call this post complete. A complete mess, but complete regardless. Please don't lose any respect for me (there wasn't much there in the first place, right?!). :)