I'm ill. Very, very ill*. So ill, I might even up and die**.
Must be nearly Christmas. How do I know?
It's because I have my annual chest infection. Hurrah for the good old seasonal traditions.
It started last Wednesday, made itself properly felt on Thursday, and has me coughing like a wiry old docker with a 60-a-day habit. Knowing from bitter experience that the only thing to shift a chest infection for me is a course of terrifyingly powerful antibiotics, I made an emergency appointment with a doctor for Saturday morning. He listened to my chest, looked down my throat and up my nose, said lots of sympathetic and encouraging things, then prescribed me a week's worth of erythromycin.
I looked up the list of possible side effects, and rather wish I hadn't now. One of them is "temporary deafeness."
I said "TEMPORARY DEAFNESS."
So, my chest hurts where my "big tubes" are infected. My lungs hurt. My back muscles are sore from coughing. My head aches from a mixture of the deep, echoey coughs and the lack of sleep. My throat is sore from barking like a seal. My stomach is decidedly dodgy from the antibiotics. Not deaf yet though.
We had a long-planned dinner party last night. Mr WithaY and I had been preparing for it for several days. The food looked lovely. The wines were well-chosen. I'd even made a chocolate bread and butter pudding. Delicious.
Our mates arrived and a good time was in full swing. I made it through the starter and half of the main course before feeling so awful*** that I had to take myself off to bed. Half past nine on a Saturday night. Ever the perfect hostess, me.
I have to go into London tomorrow for a meeting, because it is one that I have already postphoned once, and really can't again. I will go in late, come home early and hope that I don't distress too many people with my hideous, racking cough while I'm there.
*Not that ill, truth be told, really.
**No I won't.
***Really, really sick. Another delightful side effect of the antibiotics.