This is going to be long.
Wednesday night I came home from a 12-hour stint up in Reno that begin with work training and ended with me hanging out with my youngest stepdaughter and her mother, both of whom I adore and will sit and chat with for hours on end if not checked. As I drove home from Reno, I felt a tickle at the back of my throat and nose that heralded bad things to come. I came home, drank some tea, choked down a few echinacea capsules, informed my husband that I thought I was getting sick, and passed the fuck out.
I woke up Thursday morning and immediately knew that the echinecea had done fuck-all. I was death warmed over. I was a fucking zombie. My throat hurt. My ears were plugged and draining into my throat. My sinuses were not full of snot – in fact, there was relatively little snot up there – but they were swollen and ached, and made my entire head feel like a giant mass of hell. Below my neck there was little to no discomfort, outside of general aches and pains that come from a combination of being sick and being on your feet too often for your body’s favor. I wanted to sleep more, but I couldn’t breathe or get comfortable, and I had actual shit that had to be done, so that was out.
First on the list was a journey up to Virginia City. Our current roommate is a good friend of ours through our union, and he’s been clean of drugs for several months. He moved in with us because he needed a place to stay, and he needed that place to be with people who would help him stay off of drugs. Kenny being a recovering addict, and myself having grown up with that shit (as well as having attended Alateen meetings for the majority of my adolescence) have made us the ideal candidates, and we needed the money anyway. So Roommate moved in with us. Unfortunately, his past caught up with him and he got busted on an old warrant in Storey County about two weeks ago while Kenny and he were driving home from work. He spent a week in jail in Reno (where he got popped), working off his time on the Reno warrant (apparently he had two, both failure to comply charges that basically means, “The court told you to go to a class and you didn’t finish the class, so come in and tell us why,” and then on Monday he got transferred to Storey to work his time off there.
I’ve spent my entire life dealing with scenarios like this. Drug addicts almost always get into trouble with the law, and when they get clean, that trouble comes back to bite ‘em in the butt. It’s part and parcel of getting clean, and I’ve spent the majority of my adult years helping addicts through it. I would consider it my calling, except that I’d get burnt out too easily. For now, I stick with helping the people close to me. Like Roommate.
So Kenny, my father (who also knows Roommate and is my husband’s sponsor) go up to Virginia City to explain to the judge that yes, Roommate is clean, yes, Kenny is Roommate’s sponsor, and yes, Roommate is living with us and was, in fact, planning on turning himself in on the Storey County warrant (which he knew about – the Reno one was a surprise to us all) to serve his time once he got some money to put on his books. The judge surprises us all by releasing Roommate into our custody and ordering him to complete the original class. My father helps Roommate get this all set up, as he knows the system in Carson City.
Halfway through the hearing my head started throbbing and my vision started to go. When we picked up my father for court that morning, my mother sent me off with coffee, a blueberry muffin, and sinus medication. I’d choked down one dose of the medication immediately, and had another dose waiting for me. Liquids weren’t available in the courtroom, so I suffered through the effects and choked down the second dose before leaving for Carson City.
I should not have been allowed to drive home. Miraculously, I got us back from Virginia City in one piece – the route between Carson and VC is tortuous, winding, and terrifying on the best of days, and I was cracked out of my goddamn skull on sinus medication and sickness. We take my father home and then take Roommate to cash his check (the union had released one of his two paychecks to us at his request, but his other paycheck was languishing up in Reno. Luckily for him we had to go to Reno that day as well so he could get that one too). He then immediately paid us back the $20 we had put on his books for him while he was in jail in Reno, and an additional $20 we’d loaned him for cigarettes prior to his incarceration that I had completely forgotten about.
We then headed off to Casino Fandango’s lunch buffet. At this point I was ravenous. I requested the largest bucket of orange juice they would bring me, and set about putting together the strangest buffet plate ever. Basically I was wandering around snagging anything that looked appetizing – it’s amazing I didn’t attack some other poor patron’s own plate. By the time I sat down I had a huge helping of spaghetti and meatballs, an eggroll (that was half-covered in meatball sauce), delicious little fried hush puppies, two beef tamales, pasta salad, regular salad, boiled eggs, and what I think was chow mein. And then I put away a roll and two servings of the most delicious rice pudding on the planet. I consumed two gigantic buckets of orange juice, as well. Roommate spent a lot of the time ogling the mountain of food I had put away while simultaneously shoveling his own mountain into his gullet (apparently, jail food in Storey County sucks really bad).
Completely stuffed, I toddled out to the car. I choked down half a cigarette, cursing myself for not having bought another pack of menthols (which I don’t normally smoke but are heavenly when you’re sick). The sinus medication kicked in thoroughly at this point, and we headed off to Reno.
I had to go to the union hall to do something for them, and while I was doing that, Kenny and Roommate went to take care of his paycheck. The place that had it also gave him a turkey for Thanksgiving, which is now sitting in our freezer, as we’re going somewhere else for Thankgsiving. It’ll get used eventually.
While I was at the union hall, my sinus medication wore off and I crashed hard. The woman who was working at the office clearly felt badly for me, and yet because of the strange friendship we have, could not help poking fun of me. In retrospect, I think I must have had a fever at this point, because I kept seeing little flashes of light and all I wanted in the world was the bottle of water I had requested Kenny get me while he was out. Finally, I gave in and got a coffee cup full of water from the water spigot, and just as I took a huge gulp of it, Kenny and Roommate walked in with my bottle of water.
I made Kenny drive us home, as I was lucid enough to realize I was not well enough to do the deed myself. I hallucinated my way home and passed out around 4:30 p.m., remembering to set my alarm clock for 9 p.m. and smear Vicks Vap O Rub under my nose and on my chest and neck.
I woke up at 8 p.m. totally unable to breathe. I was suffocating. The Vicks had worn off and the air was still and my nostrils felt swollen shut. I stumbled downstairs. I’m pretty sure I made a comment about dying. Kenny began to look concerned at this point. Roommate was nowhere to be seen.
Kenny asked me if I was still going to work my graveyard shift that night. I said yes, I was, because no one was going to be able to cover it and then my boss was going to have to, and she would Not Be Happy. I would suffer through it as best as I could, I said. At least, I think that’s what I said. I’m fairly certain half of it was completely unintelligible.
I choked down a dayquil that Kenny had found me and took a hot shower. Sometime in the midst of all of this, I made a facebook post about being sick and going to work. I don’t remember doing it, I just know that my mom found out I was sick and put together a care package for me. I know this because my dad showed up at ten after ten with a bag full of glorious cold medication and tea for me, and a jacket because my mom knows I don’t have one because my old one got stolen when my Jeep did, and I’m too irresponsible to remember to go buy a new one when I have money. My mom, it turns out, is sick with some sort of cold, which is entirely unlike what I was sick with, but she still sent my father out with goodies for me and I love her (and him) for it.
The mint tea and sinus medication got me through the night. Somehow, I got all of my work done. I have no idea how I managed it: I know that at one point I got into a screaming match with a customer who was drunk, and at another point a very kind regular customer of mine explained how to use the coffee machine, which had completely flummoxed me. I sat down on a footstool behind the counter at 2:20 a.m. and zoned out on the overhead lights, finally coming out of my daze at around 3 a.m., when a customer walked in. I even remembered to make the breakfast food (taking careful care not to breathe all over it or touch it, despite the fact that it is superheated to the point of killing even Tasha germs). Basically, my night at work Thursday night/Friday morning was almost exactly like a convenience store version of this Hyperbole and a Half post. I think I sat outside and cried for a good fifteen minutes at one point purely because the world had just stopped making sense and I had no idea what I was doing.
My boss got into work right around when a brief lucid moment kicked in. She was totally unaware of how ill I truly was. At one point she went and got me a smoked turkey, which our chain of convenience stores had decided to give to the employees as a gift for Thanksgiving. I accepted it, totally bewildered, and put it into the back of my car. She told me to feel better, and I drove home.
I walked into my house, and the world slipped into insanity again.
I stumbled upstairs, fighting off my angrily mewling Siamese cat and overly hyper 45-lb pit bull. I sleepily changed into my pajama shirt and pants and took out my contact lenses (I am honestly surprised I remembered to do any of this at this point – only the fact that my work clothes and contacts are bloody uncomfortable after a night in either kept me from just stumbling to my bed and passing the hell out, shoes and all). Halfway through dressing myself I realized I had left the stupid smoked turkey in the back of my car, and I stumbled back downstairs, once again fighting off my cat (who thought I had suddenly been inspired to feed him because I was heading back toward the kitchen), and then struggling to open the box that the turkey was kept in so that I would actually be able to fit the damn thing in my fridge, which is tiny. At one point I sat on the floor of my kitchen, crying, because I would have killed for one of those stupid box cutters we have in multitude at work but I can never find at home, and this stupid turkey was the last hurdle I had to clear before I could go to blessed, blessed sleep. The box completely eluded me, and it was only a brief flash of memory from my time working at the newspaper that showed me how to open the string tabs around the box.
Finally, I got the stupid bird into my fridge and stumbled upstairs. I turned my phone to silent, choked down a nyquil (courtesy of my mom), smeared vicks under my nose to keep me from choking on dry throat, and passed the hell out.
I woke up six hours later feeling like I’d been hit by an entire wagon train headin’ on up to Oregon. It didn’t matter, however, because Kenny and I had scheduled a beer tasting for tonight, my only day off this week. Our first batch of beer was ready to be tasted, and our friends were convening at our friend Jessica’s house to try it out, and also party it up. This meant that I spent the majority of Friday, my only day off, the day I should have spent recuperating, transporting things from our house to Jessica’s house. In between, I had to run errands, like picking up my check and cashing it, doing some shopping, paying some bills. Dayquil got me through it, but I quickly ran out of that and forgot to pick more up because Dayquil does NOT help your memory.
Finally, we get to Jessica’s house and get all of the munchies set up and I print out the labels for our beer (which actually turned out pretty cool – you can check out a picture here) and everyone starts showing up. The kids (Jessica has three kids who are 7, 8, and 10, and a few other people brought their kids as well) start a betting pool on who’s going to puke first (Jessica’s kids are that cool).
At this point we crack open our beers. I can’t taste it. I’m so sick that everything tastes like sawdust, even good beer. I then decide that I am going to burn the sick out of me.
I go to the store and I purchase a bottle of Captain Morgans. I bought Captain Morgans because my mom yelled at me last time I bought my favorite rum, which is Sailor Jerry’s and is a much higher proof. She said she’d drink Captain Morgans with me. So I go home and we all do shots. Kenny says that I had nine or ten shots within a span of one or two hours. All I remember is drooping, half-passed-out, on the futon couch in Jessica’s garage, behind Kenny, and hearing Roommate say “….Tasha…..booze….” and shooting up and going “SHOTS?” and stumbling back into the kitchen for more booze.
At this point I was sick AND drunk. While we were in the kitchen, Roommate put his twenty five cents into the vomit pool, on me.
I may have been sick and totally knockered, but I never puke when I’m drunk. What a dumbass.
Kenny drives us home sometime around 10 p.m. I am vaguely aware of changing out of my clothes and contacts and stumbling to bed. The booze starts to vaguely wear off and I remember to set my alarm clock for noon and set my sleep tracker on my phone (which I use to track my insomnia. It’s an interesting read. You should try it sometime).
Kenny lulls me to sleep by rubbing my neck and back for about thirty minutes. Really, I do have the best husband ever – I was totally tanked, and he just sat there and cuddled with me until I passed out.
This is how drunk I was – occasionally I would forget to breathe. I lost control of my autonomous functions. Future self needs to remember not to ever try to get better through alcohol.
Nine and a half hours later I sit bolt upright in bed, unable to breathe. I recognize immediately that something is not right.
I cannot focus on a single thought. I can’t think of exactly what I am supposed to be doing, and my room is spinning in front of me. Kenny is nowhere to be found, and my dog is glaring at me balefully from the end of the bed – I have just kicked her, I think, in my struggle to sit upright. This is not a hangover. This is the height of my illness.
The world slides into sharp focus for a brief moment, and I realize that there is absolutely no way I can go to work this way. I call my boss – it is ten in the morning and thus four full hours before I have to be in. Because of my brief moment of sanity, I sound far less ill than I actually am in explaining to her that I’m going to go to the doctors to get her a note, but there is absolutely no way I can come in today. She is displeased.
I stumble downstairs in my pajama pants and a T-shirt. I have my boots on with no socks, half-laced. I look like a homeless lumberjack. I stutter to Kenny (who has just woken up himself, apparently) that he needs to drive me to the doctors. He explains that he needs to drive up to Reno to pick up my youngest stepdaughter, who is supposed to come into town to visit with us today. I beg him to at least drop me off, knowing that somehow the doctor at the urgent care center can make this all better somehow. I call my mom and beg her to please come pick me up from the urgent care after I’m done and she agrees so Kenny drops me off.
This is how sick I was. I NEVER go to the doctor. I loathe doctors. I knew exactly what was wrong with me – I knew it on Thursday. I had a sinus infection. I knew it, because I had had one before (although never this badly), and because I’m not a moron. Normally I can sleep them off but it wasn’t happening this time because NyQuil does fuck all to a sinus infection apparently. I did not understand why I had to go to a doctor to fix this, because I knew what was wrong, but the doctor had the magical ability to keep me out of work on Saturday, and to give me medicine to make this all go away, so I went and I paid $70.
The receptionist must have thought I was contagious because she hurried me through the in-processing and got me into the back before everyone else. I sat in the doctors room for about five minutes playing tetris on my phone before the nurse came in and took my vitals and got some basic information. She informed me that I had a bloody nose and pus at the back of my throat. She then informed me that I had liquid behind my eardrums. She stuck a humongous swab into the back of my throat and almost made me puke. She says that I do not have a temperature and I somehow manage to inform her that this will change in the next five minutes, as I’ve been hot-cold rapidly over the last few days. She nods and makes a note, and walks out.
A few minutes later a very kind doctor comes in. He peers at me, pokes my face, congratulates me on how clear my lungs are (this surprised me to some extent, and I had to attribute it to not having been able to smoke much over the last few days), and goes through a few things.
I blow my nose and at this point he becomes very concerned. I look down and the tissue is pretty much soaked in snot and blood. Gross.
It is at this moment that I realize that the snot and blood came from me and I lean back, horrified, and begin to panic, which does not help things. The doctor immediately prescribes me Augmentin and refuses to prescribe me the codeine cough syrup I want to go to sleep with. He tells me to get Mucinex and Afrin to go with my Augmentin prescription and then he leaves. I begin to hyperventilate. The nurse comes in as I’m finishing cleaning up from the bloody nose incident. She gives me a paper with the doctors note for work, and my release information, and my prescription. I smile and nod and call my mother to come pick me up, trying very hard to not freak out. On the way out a smiling lady hands me the rest of my paperwork (I’d already paid, I think, before I came into the back) and two goodie bag type things. They have hand sanitizer, a band-aid dispenser, and a map of Carson City in them. I have two of them. I stuff one into the other, and all of my paper work in it, and then put the whole mess into my purse, and call my boss to tell her I have a doctors note. She is even less pleased. I try not to freak out, and this is much easier once I’m out in the freezing cold air outside and not in the tiny room in the urgent care. I somehow convince myself that the cold air is making my bloody nose not so bloody.
I stumble over to Carls Jr., which is in the same strip mall this urgent care is at. I am ravenous, and more than anything I want beef. MEAT. I crave it. I get a Big Carl meal because it’s cheap and I just spent $70 to get told that I have a bloody nose and pus in my throat.
My mom takes me home and I devour my burger. My dog makes puppy eyes at me and it does nothing. It is at this point that I remember that Augmentin is an extremely expensive antibiotic designed for respiratory illnesses, and I am not going to be able to afford it because I don’t have insurance. This makes me panic again.
I begin to cry. I call Wal-Mart and they tell me the generic is going to cost at least $60. I can’t afford this. Kenny and my stepdaughter come home and find me curled in a ball at the end of the couch, my dog sitting on top of me because I can’t muster up the energy to get her off of me.
I pop my last Dayquil and stumble upstairs to put real clothes on. On the way I knock on Roommate’s door and tell him we’re going out for food and does he want to come with us? He looks rather alarmed at the state I’m in, but he nods yes.
We go to Wal-Greens first, where they inform me that Augmentin costs $120. I struggle not to cry, and instead call the urgent care and ask if they can prescribe something else.
Fifteen minutes later I walk out of wal-mart after having spent $8 on both my new, different antibiotic (doxycycline) and my Afrin nasal spray (I have Mucinex at home already). Say what you want about Wal-Mart, those guys totally took care of me. I had no idea where I was or what I was looking for, but they took care of me, and my urgent care totally had my back. Will go there sick again.
We decide to go to Round Table pizza for lunch. I’ve already eaten at this point but I really genuinely want an iced tea. Roommate decides to buy for all of us and seems disappointed when I only request a drink. I get my iced tea. We have a decent lunch. At this point the Dayquil kicks in and I mention that I eventually want to go see the new Harry Potter movie that came out. My stepdaughter catches on to this and my fate is sealed: I am about to watch Deathly Hallows, Part 1, while high on sinus infection.
We wound up going to my fathers’ house first, because he wanted to see his granddaughter. We spent an hour or so there before heading off to the movie theater.
I begin to get Very Very Hungry. Normally I do not buy theater food, because I am poor. Sick me has decided, fuck it, and buys a $15 combo that consists of two large drinks and a large popcorn. I give my stepdaughter and Kenny the large rootbeer to share, because they are not ill, and I take the large Coke. I devour the popcorn.
I hate popcorn. It tastes divine.
I do not remember the majority of the movie. I recall being pissed off about various things they got wrong, and being very angry that they cut out Dobby’s headstone. Otherwise, the movie was a blur of magic and anger at there not being more Snape. I recall that there was a scene where Nigini snapped at the kids and my stepdaughter screamed, and Roommate pointed at her and laughed, which was actually really funny. I laughed and got another bloody nose.
My dad texts me and says that now my mom and sister and sister’s stepdaughter want to see my stepdaughter. We head back over to my dad’s house and my mom has the most wonderful news: SHE IS GOING TO FEED US DINNER. This is the most important thing in the world to me right now. My mom is making spaghetti and soon is going to be IN MY STOMACH.
We eat and soon it is time to take Roommate home and drive Stepdaughter back up to Reno. Kenny asks me if I want to come. Stupidly, I say yes. My dad decides he wants to come as well. So we drive Roommate home, I grab another pack of smokes, we calm down our dog, and leave again.
That entire night is a blur. I recall hanging out with Kenny’s ex-girlfriend for a while (she really is a good friend of ours) while she served us coffee. I recall that she was babysitting her grandkids (her oldest daughter is about my age, while her youngest – my stepdaughter – is nine) and that for some reason they were enamoured with me. I also remember yelling at my stepdaughter for pulling one of the girls along by their hair. Otherwise, I don’t remember anything. What I do remember is that Kenny made me a whole carafe of SleepyTime mint-chamomile tea with honey in it and brought it to me in bed, which was the sweetest thing ever and I totally love SleepyTime.
This morning, I woke up and I felt like shit, but by all that’s holy, I was able to think clearly. I went into work and I felt totally able to operate a register and not die all over the place, and let me tell you – that feels fucking good.
Now I just need to make it through the next two weeks of antibiotics – during which I can’t drink alcohol. Fuck.
