Sick I

pete rosos

Part I:
I woke up Thursday morning with a thick mucus burning in the back of my throat. The slow motion distortion of everything in sight confirmed what the burning first hinted at. Sick again.

Get up. Get dressed. Walk the dogs. Swallow. Pins and needles. Wake the kids and get them ready for school. Do this all in slow motion, on autopilot, making sure the essential points are covered, overlooking the trivialities. Swallow. Pins and needles. Careful driving the car, you’re not 100%. Go back. Clean the house. Get it ready for the return of the out-of-town-on-business wife. Swallow. Pins and needles. Get back in the car. Get out on the highway towards the airport. Maintain a good cruising speed. Don’t get in anyone’s way and don’t try anything too ballsy. Float along the flow of traffic with monotone-treble-morning news and the drone of 60 mile-an-hour tires. Swallow. Pins and needles. Park the car. Shamble to the terminal (a surprisingly apt word for how you feel). Wait. Get up. Give her a welcome-home hug. Ask how the flight was. Answer the how-are-you question with a low, blunt I-feel-like-shit statement. Swallow. Pins and needles. Explain why as briefly as you can. Back to the car. Head home trying to pay attention to any conversation as best as you can, but not so much as to distract. Get home (safely, thankfully). Give in to the ever-increasing gravity at the instant the wife suggests to take-it-easy. Swallow. Pins and needles. Crawl into bed and sleep.

Wake up in the early evening, pins and needles and a strange increase in my ability to see the upper portion my cheeks without trying. Go to the mirror. Have a look. The word “pummeled” echoes from some corner in my frontal lobe followed by “red, swollen, puffy, cracked, hot,” and finally “newly carved wrinkle canyons.” Touch it. It throbs with pressure. The kids and wife are home. They look worried, but not overly concerned. Zombie walk the dogs around the block. Come home. Sit down. Try to eat. Fail. Take over-the-counter pain pills. Pins and needles. Go back to bed and suffer. Fall asleep. Wake up late at night. Last walk with the dogs. More over-the-counter pain pills. More sleep. Can’t sleep. Pills not working. Memory of leftover 500mg Hydrocodone tablets from wife’s deviated septum surgery last year. Desperate times, desperate measures. Take, wait, mild buoyant relief, and finally sleep again.

Wake up. Pins and needles and an increased cheek-eclipsing view. “Gotta see a doctor” wafts its way off my lips before any other conscious action. Squeeze hands into a loose fist and notice a dry cracking sting. Tiny little hives where it was once nice and smooth. Affirmation of a doctor’s visit. Grudgingly go through the morning motions. doctor’s office opens at 9. Don’t have an appointment. Risk of paying more for emergency room deductible vs. copay is higher than not being seem immediately. Sit and wait. Pins and needles. The clock is taking forever. Finally get to the doctor’s office. “You’re in luck. He was completely booked for today, but he’s just had a cancelation. If you wait 15 minutes, he can see you.” Thank you. I’ll wait.

View Project:

Utata » Tribal Photography » Projects