I Need a Bag of Limes

So, you know how I got the flu and then got COVID and then the COVID kicked my ass?

Well, funny story.

Randy and Joey both got symptoms after I tested positive.

Randy had a runny nose and mild head cold symptoms for a few days. Joey was sick to his stomach with a bad headache, but his symptoms cleared up in a couple days as well.

So, last Thursday was the first day I felt good.

I mean, I was weak and shaky, but I definitely felt like I was on the other side of COVID. Which took over two weeks.

Anyway, I celebrated by putting together some IKEA shelves called Omar. Randy has been bingeing The Wire. Again. So, it was kind of fitting our shelves were called Omar.

I took the pantry apart and put it back together. My two Omar shelves were kicking ass in their new space.

All was right with the world, man. I mean, my back hurt pretty bad. I totally overdid it. But it was okay. I’d get the heating pad. No harm, no foul. Maybe. We’d see in the morning.

Then, the morning came.

Last Friday morning. The morning when we realized that Joey’s symptoms weren’t COVID symptoms. He had the stomach bug that had been going through the restaurant where he works.

I got out of bed and felt off.

I did a lot yesterday. Way too much. That’s all this is. Yep. I just need to slow down a bit. 

I booted up my work laptop at my dining room table.

In the time it took me to connect to our network and clock in for the day, I realized I was actually sick as fuck. For all that is fucking holy, it hit me like a brick.

I checked a few things at work, clocked out, and emailed my boss that I was done for the day.

I went back to the bedroom and laid down.

I think I was there under a minute before a lot of unpleasant things happened that involved frantic limping from the bedroom to the bathroom. Why limping? Haha, well, I think I have a stress fracture in my left foot. I’ve had them before. I know what they feel like. So, you know, who knows? Maybe, COVID made my bones brittle.

For 48 hours, I endured one of the worst headaches of my life. The headache was bad, but not worse than the extreme pain in my stomach. It was worse than the flu and worse than COVID. By quite a bit. Thank the stars it was 48 hours.

For 48 hours, I was too sick to watch TV. I was too sick to sleep. I laid in bed and stared at the wall. I didn’t bother crying. I’m not sure I could have. Anything liquid was long gone. My lips shriveled up and cracked. I constantly sipped water or soda.

My part of the world got hit with a fairly significant ice storm Friday. I had been about 12 hours into purgatory.

Our bedroom faces the road and is above the garage.

Friday evening, while I stared at the curtains and the wall, I kept hearing this grinding noise with bright light coming in at the edges of our black out curtains. Which aren’t the greatest black out curtains to be honest. 

At that point I was exhausted and there was no such thing as a comfortable position.

I was freezing, no matter many blankets. I kept seeing that light and hearing that noise. I got out of bed and looked. A truck had tried to turn around in our driveway and was stuck. His headlights were right in my face. Which really did wonders for my headache.

I have no idea how long that truck was out there. It feels like it was hours and hours and I knew Joey would be coming home from work soon. Where would he park? Hmmmm?

I thought about voicing my fears to Randy. My god, what will we do? But I realized that would change nothing and that it would also take way too much effort to talk that much.

Turns out, the truck got out before Joey got home. I don’t recall that happening. It must have been one of the times where I would sleep for 20 or 30 minutes.

Joey and Randy took such good care of me. Seriously, you guys, they did.

I mean, mostly.

Okay, I do not want to sound ungrateful, but on Saturday, after I had lived in the bowels of hell for over 24 hours, I decided what I needed was a popsicle.

I fucking needed a popsicle.

Joey went to a gas station and picked up what they had and brought them home. He brought home frozen fruit bars.

Frozen fucking fruit bars. Raspberry, lime or strawberry.

Are fruit bars popsicles? No. No they are not.

I mean, I was polite and all. I accepted a raspberry. I even ate half of it, even though every moment only reminded of how much it was not a popsicle.

I think one of the only times I veered from my path of bedroom to bathroom and back was to throw away my half eaten fruit bar. Fucking fruit bar.

Then they did pull through and brought home honest to god, no color that exists in fruit popsicles. And Randy brought me one.

An orange one.

I mean, if it had been lime, I would have considered that a hostile act. But orange? Orange is next worst.

Then he brought me a cherry one, so I felt that redeemed him as cherry is best.

Next two? Fucking orange. I am not even kidding you.

It is also possible, perhaps, that it turns out having been sick for a goddamn month and then topping it off with the worst headache in years might turn me a little bit into a contrary patient. I mean, it’s definitely possible.

I mean, the good thing is there can’t be too many orange popsicles even left at this point.

I did my 48 hours. Today is the first day after. I am tired. I’m not better, but I am way better. No headache. No other unpleasant horrors. I ate food. It was glorious.

I think we need a bag or limes or something. I’m not sure what’s left out there for me to get. Scurvy maybe?

fresh limes

Although, I do have the fruit bars. Lime ones. That should do.

Fucking fruit bars. 

I really am much better today. Much, much better. I couldn’t put together shelves or anything, but I am better. Things were looking up and then I noticed this odd spot on my arm.

It was like a brownish, flakey oval, little larger than a pencil eraser. It did not look good to me.

And it fucking hurt.

Jesus. The COVID didn’t just make my bones brittle. It made the skin cancer come out. It can’t be a good sign if it already hurts. 

I couldn’t come up with a single good outcome. I only had worst case scenarios.

Then I remembered something. Oh. Wait. Wait wait wait. Remember after you clocked out? And you bounced off the wall? 

Friday morning, after shutting down for the day, I stumbled when I left the room.

I hit the wall pretty hard you guys.

I have a scrape (it’s not a tumor) and a bruise. It’s just all the other stuff was so much worse, I pretty much forgot it happened before even making it to the bedroom.

I emailed my boss a little bit ago and told him I’m taking the next few days off. I need a couple days. Maybe more. I’m feeling a bit skittish about all the other germs. Because you know, if anyone around me has the black plague, then you know I’m gonna get it too.

Wish me hearts and flowers and baby angels riding on unicorns for the next few days. I have a lot of healing to do.


Image by Jeon Sang-O from Pixabay


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  • Oh you poor angel. When you get better you need to find the original Covid bearer (the one that got your family exposed) and beat them up. I heard there was a ‘germ’ out there that was not Covid and not the Flu, but the symptoms were similar and made you feel like crap for 2 weeks. For some reason, after making a big deal about it on the news, everyone’s suddenly silent about it. But for you to keep getting sick (never mind your back), that’s just not fair.
    Here’s hoping that this is the end of the streak of sick in your family so that you can go back to your life as you once knew it!

  • I do wish you hearts and flowers and baby angels riding on unicorns and get well soon from far, far away. You still make me laugh, even when you are not well. Thank you for that.

  • At a certain point you earn the right to be a contrary patient, and I think you’d passed that point some time last week. At the very least you passed it when you told your boss you were signing out. We all need self-care and I’m only saying that because there are too many of us who, because we’re able to work from home, will keep on working even when we need to shut down and crawl into bed. I just hate that even bed was a miserable place for you.
    And I went and looked at the popsicles online and it described them as “a classic summertime treat”, which I guess might be why they’re hard to find right now but, seriously, needing a popsicle is not restricted to any time of year.

  • Damn, Michelle, I hope things get better for you soon, limes or no limes. We’ve been eating Kool Pops a lot, as the dollar store has had them for a few months. Then a couple of weeks ago they were gone, and I looked for Otter Pops in the regular grocery store and apparently the grocery buyers don’t think they would sell well with the remnants of four feet of snow on the ground or some such horse shit.
    On the lighter side, have your health problems kept you distracted from the collapse of democracy?

  • My husband did the same thing a few months ago. When you need a popsicles there is no almost! This fucking fruit bars should banned from the freezer section! I wonder how many poor children have been scarred for life because the were given a fucking fruit bar! Hope you’re feeling better.

  • I recommend letting the lime things melt and filling a rapid action water pistol with the melt. Use on anyone attempting to bring you anything other than a popsicle.

  • Wishing you hearts and flowers and baby angels riding on unicorns for a lot of days. And real popsickles. And better black out shades. Take care. This too shall pass – right?

By Michelle


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