Where have I been?
At home, resting. I am very, very ill. I have not gone out for about three weeks, been to the hospital three times, and missed three days of work. I have been struggling with going to work and adjusting to new medications my doctor is trying, but they're not working. Friday, he wanted to admit me to the hospital, but I freaked out and refused, so he said I could try bedrest this weekend.
My body has fluctuated, and I can tell the rest is helping, but I am still not well. When I woke up again at 3 a.m. today (notice it's 5 now) to spew out more of what resembles the parasitic alien creatures coming out the bottom of Stephen King's Dreamcatcher victims, I realized that I'm not going to just get better on my own. That my doc (who is quite awesome) knows what he's doing, and I have to trust him, even if I'm afraid I'll be like the freakshow in a room with five old Koreans and all their visitors gawking at me and trying to use me for free English lessons.
I sent a very pathetic e-mail to my co-workers and pray they don't hate me. If I'm not typing here, it's because I'm sparing you the gory details of the swamp creature death that expunges itself from my innards 10-15 times a day.
For now, I'm off to pack a small bag for the hospital stay.