The sweeper of streets

Almost panic-called an ambulance in the night, but managed instead to save $75 and tempt fate by self-medication. I'd felt pretty crappy all day, but around supper time I developed a headache, which was going nowhere, and which worsened and worsened. At 9, I went to bed and discovered that the pressure caused by laying my head on the pillow was causing more pain. Every 2-3 minutes, the pain would increase on the side I was laying, so I would move and it would lessen a little. Then increase on the new side until I moved, etc. etc. etc. Around midnight, I started sweating, so kicked off the blankets and started shivering violently. This carried on till around 3, when I started feeling nauseous. I got out of bed, and started looking for a bucket to put by the bed in case it came on suddenly... then around 4, I started being unable to breathe properly... All of this, I should say, was cumulative. I was in a proper mess. 

Sadly, for me, I am allergic to ASAs and NSAIDs, which makes taking any pain medication a bit of a lottery. I had been warned off Tylenol too - but crawled  up to the third floor to wake Mrs Ottawacker, the cats and anyone or anything else that wanted to witness my misery (I am a proper drama queen at times). She graciously got up, administered my Tylenol (I had spent 10 minutes looking for it) and sat with me while we either waited for anaphylaxis or relief. I used one of Ottawacker Jr's emergency asthma inhalers, which eased my breathing, and established I had (unbelievably) no fever. Thankfully, when it came, it was relief. I crashed out and slept till about 11.

Despite being triple-vaxxed, this has been the worst I have felt in my life. The removal of masks in schools has been an absolute nightmare. I read today there were 2,800 deaths from Covid in the UK yesterday. It is criminal.

Thankfully, the morning came and I awoke, awoken by the passing of the municipal street sweeper, of all things. I felt drained, but better. It was like the passing of a storm. All that was missing was the sweet silver song of the lark.

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