Yesterday a little cough started scratching my throat in the morning. No biggie. I survived The Great Plague of Christmas (wherein Owen had stomach bug, then near-pneumonia, then a terrible reaction to his antibiotics which left him with horrendous diaper rash and an icky stomach, then Benjamin got a slightly less potent version of the illness for about a week) with very minimal side effects.
But the catch is that I’m not at home, able to rest as I should be. I can’t make a pot of tea and put my feet up. I’m on-site running my largest training of the year (which always happens RIGHT after the holidays and always causes a bit of stress because of that). And, since I’m pregnant, I can’t take Airborne or Dayquil or other treatments. Hooray. Hot tea with honey and lemon it is!
So I did what I always do (and what I had to do), and powered through yesterday, working from 7:30am to 10:30pm. Not surprisingly, that little scratch in my throat has turned into a fireball in my chest and it feels like I’m breathing through a straw. I’ve been the mother of an asthmatic long enough to know the signs that it’s time to whip out the albuterol inhaler (which I haven’t needed since I was 10 years old, but my exercise-induced asthma has gotten a LOT worse during this pregnancy so far, so my midwife made me fill a prescription for the inhaler. Thank you, midwife, for knowing better than me!).
Benjamin, bless his heart, is bringing me the inhaler and a thermometer so I can make sure I don’t overheat this baby with a fever. In the meantime, it’s taking every ounce of concentration in my body to get my work done rather than curl up into a ball and close my eyes.
So no real blog post today. Sorry. I’m working too hard on thinking “This ISN’T the flu. This ISN’T the flu.” over and over again.
Send me healthy thoughts!