Okay, Jesus didn’t say “make up your bed” – he said “take up your bed” – but the darn thing is a king-size with umpteen layers of bedding, and I ain’t totin’ it nowhere.
I made up this bed this afternoon, without coughing.
A cold, to a bad cold, to sinusitis and bronchitis – when I finished that course of antibiotics (a Z-pack) I thought I was done, but that night the pneumonia hit. That was almost a week ago. I’ve only left the house since then to go to the doctor’s office.
Now I’m halfway through a 10-pill course of Levaquin, and making up this bed by myself is the most vigorous activity I’ve attempted.
So far, today, I have not gone into a coughing jag that has left me spitting up into the trashcan; I haven’t curled up around my abdomen to fight off chills; I haven’t felt my body go hot or cold. I am hopeful
Tomorrow I intend to wake up and go back to work; since “go back to work” in my world means walking from the bedroom to the desk and sitting down, I’m a-gonna try it. If I make it to lunchtime and still feel okay, I will – slowly – head over to the ski hill and slide down a single groomed run.
Then, I’ll regroup.