When I came back from Maui last week, all was smooth sailing. Other than the usual small screaming occupants of nearby seats, the flight was fine. DH was rather miserable, as he'd begun to show signs of coming down with a cold on our last day, but I was only sunburnt and tired -- or so I thought. It was nearly midnight when we rolled off the plane, so we spent the night at a tacky no-tell-motel before making the 3-hour drive home from the airport. We picked up our doggies from the kennel en route, and went home to collapse until the next morning, when DH, looking more than a little worse for the wear, left for Houston.
It was early, still, and I was really tired, so I decided to go back to bed for a few minutes before starting the tedious job of plowing through my stacked-up inbox. I woke up hours later, with my throat on fire, and a whole bunch of new bones that had grown in broken. I thought, "Damn; I'm getting a cold too." That was my last clear thought for 5 or 6 days.
At first, I couldn't get out of bed. Later, I probably shouldn't have got out of bed. After several hours of alternating between sweating and shivering, I took my temperature – 103 F. It may have gone higher, but I mislaid the thermometer (I don't remember going into the guest room, but that's where I found the thermometer last night...).
One day – it may have been Wednesday – I woke up thinking I was still in Maui. I spotted Pippin, my furry white gremlin-dog, curled up next to me on the pillow. "Pippin!" I asked, "How did you get here?" Unfortunately, Pippin doesn't quite speak English, so all he could do was nuzzle my ear relentlessly until I put on my glasses and saw the grey skies weeping rain outside the window. Argghhh!
It's just as well DH was out of town because I would have driven him crazy with my whingeing. I was utterly flummoxed by the appearance of new and painful body parts that hitherto hadn't existed. (The outside edges of your hands can hurt? WTF?)
I had a previously scheduled doctor's appointment near the end of the week. It was meant to be for getting the results of the various tests my doctor has run on me since my thyroid went extra-haywire back in June. I considered canceling because I felt too ill to drive, but I have to admit that even half-delirious, I wanted to know whether he still suspected I had a brain tumour (well, a pituitary tumour, but as far as I'm concerned, if it's inside your skull it counts as brain!), so I went.
I do not have a brain tumour.
I have, as originally suspected, Hashimoto's thyroiditis. I also have the flu.
I have shiny new prescriptions for thyroid medication and cough syrup.
I have both immense relief and great joy.
I do not have a brain tumour!
DH says my flu is the karmic price I paid for being in paradise for a week and telling everyone about it. I suppose he could be right, but being delirious in exchange for a few extra days of sunshine without the prices of the Four Seasons (or a brain tumour) seems like a pretty nice deal.