In Sickness

Posted on July 8, 2002 in Body Language

I must stay home, settling the turmoil of my insides, today. No Tully’s for me.

The fever came upon me last night. I kept running from the bedroom to the office. “Are you hot? Are you hot?” Lynn thought it might be “a little stuffy”. We tried a digital thermometer, but it told me that my temperature was 93.2 F. I felt warmer than that. I kept going over to the air conditioner vent to wave my hand over it. The air blew cool. Lynn fetched a light cotton blanket made in India from the clothes cabinet for me. An idea popped into my head. I shut off the air conditioner, had Lynn open some windows in the front because I sleep naked. My theory was that the house was too full of carbon dioxide. Greenhouse gases. Global warming in a condo. The fresh air would alleviate the atmospheric condition. To help me sleep, I took half a xanax — my first in more than a week. I kept thinking of Warpster93 warning against becoming addicted, of becoming what she called a “benzidrip”. I slept until 7, got up, and went to see my endodontist to see how an infection at the base of my number 19 tooth was doing.

This morning after I come home: sudden rumbles in the abdomen necessitating a rush to the bathroom. I still check the air conditioning vents with my hand to be sure that it is still functioning. What is this disease I have? What did someone give to me and how did they do it? Off a doorknob? Did they lick one of my forks at the restaurant? Did they just breathe on me? Or was it something I ate? I drink plenty of water and eat banana chips. Lynn promises to bring me more.