I inherited a chronic digestive issue from my sweet Grandmommy, and though she has found successful ways to cope with it, lately mine were apparently not as efficacious, because I've been really ill the last two weeks, sending me at last to the urgent care center on Friday. "Yep, you have a serious problem," was the basic diagnosis, and they prescribed some of the vilest-tasting medication I've ever had to swallow. It wasn't supposed to induce vomiting, but I couldn't help but barf a couple of times. And the stuff didn't do a dime's worth of good. After checking with my stepdad (always good to get a physician's approval!), I went back to self-medicating, and though I feel a little better this afternoon, I am reluctant to declare a complete (albeit temporary) cure quite yet.
I have been so grateful not to have a job the last couple of days! I've been curled up in bed, in a fetal position, trying to rest, and had I an employer at the moment, I would have used up a good many, if not all, of my annual sick days. I am also very grateful for my mother, John, and my friend June, who have all regularly checked on me and brought me food and such. Except for slowly walking around the back yard and the aforementioned trip to the doctor, I haven't been outside since Tuesday, which is kind of bad, because the weather has been much cooler after Wednesday's rainstorms, and had I been feeling perkier, another series of bike rides would have been nice. Well, there it is.