I’m coming down with something and that’s not good. Norovirus is circulating in the community and in the hospital. While I am proud of myself for recognising that there was something amiss and of raising the alarm thus instituting timely infection prevention measures to limit the spread of it in my hospital, I certainly do not want the infection myself.
In either case, I think whatever I have is respiratory. It started with sneezing just the other day and I thought Spring was coming early. I ache all over. My eyes are heavy and feel like I’ve strained for days. My stomach is unsettled and I just feel as if I’m in a funk. Worse, my nutritional status has gone to waste. I’m embarrassed about the rubbish I’m stuffing into my mouth these days. No bueno! I best get back into a healthy routine sooner than later. Don’t want to go shopping for larger clothes.
So, I’m laying here on the couch in my funk with a cloud of heat emanating from my body while simultaneously feeling cold. I decide to take my temperature. 98.5° F. Humph! But I am burning up! I feel feverish like hell.
As I process my temperature, I conjure up images of the countless patients, usually young to middle age women, who are well versed in “oh, my body temperature is usually low so a 99° F is a deathly ill fever for me”.
Get out of here.
I have learnt over the years to not try to reason with them. I just say “uh-huh, lets keep an eye on that then” and keep on trucking… Of course I don’t get far along as these are the same patients that check YES on every box of the review of systems.
Myself, I’m not usually sick, just a cold here and there and even at my worst my temperature is normal… But there was that one time when my temperature shockingly read 102.3° F. I was elated because I felt that the thermometer validated my symptoms. Yay, I have a fever. I’m sick. I deserve to continue to wallow here in my funk and let my body try to heal itself.
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