Touching

If someone tells you they've had a touch of flu, trust me - it was a only a cold! Flu doesn't touch you, it beats you metaphorically black and blue...and literally senseless. This is the mildest form I've had and it's still miles worse than even the flueyest cold. I'm grateful after my temperature climbed again last night the fever finally broke in the small hours and I feel I'm on a slow and possibly rocky road to recovery.

I give thanks for mini snacks of the kind you might tempt a sick child with - a couple of buttered crackers, a couple of fish fingers, a few segments of soft citrus or pineapple chunks. The size of these is as much to do with the effort of producing them and clearing up afterwards as my still delicate appetite. I give thanks for plenty of other food stuffs in stock for when I feel up to more, and for the council waste collection scheme so that what has become inedible waiting for me to be well enough to eat it does come in useful in other ways.

My sitting room is still pretty much out of bounds as sitting is so wearying, but I give thanks for being more awake today and able to enjoy books and Netflix in bed. For thinking I might be fit for a bath and moving in that direction when I received a phone call from Rob the dialysis unit matron saying they had arranged for a driver to deliver me some Tamiflu antiviral medication within the next hour. If we'd known it was flu, and it hadn't been Christmas I'd have been put on this before, being in a high risk group for complications, but what with it needing to be prescribed, my GPS surgery about to shut for the weekend and me incapable of getting to a chemist finding a way for me and the tablets to get together was complicated too. I must admit I was rather touched by the extra mile duty of care!