The Cheeseblog

I have sinusitis. It’s curable! In 14 days, hopefully sooner, I will begin to feel the effects of antibiotics on my Nefarious Bacterium and its evil offspring, Blinding Headache. It’s a good thing sinusitis is curable because I have exhausted every pain killer on the market as well as performing every home remedy, voodoo ritual and snot dance imaginable. But the learning opportunities have been terrific.

*

• Kleenex (r) brand tissue actually is better than t’other kind. Mom gave me a whole box as a pre-Christmas gift and I swear to god if you could make bedding out of this stuff, I would be so in.
• If you take enough of it, even Tylenol stops working. BUT doubling your usual dose of Ibuprofren, food of the gods, will dull the pain enough to allow sleep.

**

• When you have no sense of taste or smell, Christmas dinner (and all other kinds of dinner) becomes veritably Twinkie-like, where a Twinkie represents something that looks tasty but is not discernably different in flavour from any other food.



• Pseudoephedrine not only makes me high; the morning after, it (combined with Aspirin) makes my nose bleed so that my parents’ bathroom resembles a lost scene from Kill Bill Vol. 1.
• Aspirin can cause nose bleeds.



• Our family and friends are so awesome. We were blessed with gifts and laughter and chocolate and venison pepperettes from Ontario and Sheridan’s liqueur. Saint aardvark and I agreed that if I stopped whining he would stop threatening to put me down (and telling his family on the phone of his plans…) So I went and listened to the Led! Zeppelin! Boxed! Set! he gave me for Christmas. And all became well.

(Zeppelin! Wooooo!)
* yes, those are legwarmers. Yes, it is 2004.
** yes, that is a duck puppet. Yes, another one. Yes, it belongs to me. No, my nose did not bleed on it. My nose knows which lines not to cross.

It came to be that I was lying awake, twitching at 1 am Christmas Day, in my parents’ guest bed in Burnaby. Even the catt had made his peace with the new surroundings and was curled up tidily on my feet. Saint Aardvark dreamt of opensource fairies with nary a quiver.

I, though. I.

Two days ago, after an ordinary morning, it came to be that I was walking blindly home from work at 2 pm in the beginning stages of what would be, at its highest, a 103.5 F fever and at its lowest, a rotten sinus infection.

In an effort to bring the fever down, I swigged Tylenol, Ibuprofen (alas, it cannot do everything) and finally Tylenol Cold (night), with its magical decongestent and pain and fever relieving qualities. SA assured me that the Tylenol Cold would knock me flat on my ass until morning. It didn’t. I lay awake, wondering if my fever was lower, willing myself not to turn on the light and check, drinking more water and then, predictably, having to argue myself out of bed to the bathroom.

The next day was blurry.

The next night, having spent the evening upright, not flat on my back, and having consumed some chicken soup, I assumed I was on the mend. The only symptoms remaining of my flu-like illness were the exhaustion, which could easily be due to the lack of uninterrupted sleep, the random aches and the incredible pain in my face, including my teeth, indicating a sinus issue. But that night, last night, I came to be unmedicated, tossing and turning, half able to breathe, half not, with my face throbbing with pressure. I resorted to snorting salt water at 2 am; got up at 5 and sat on the couch until I stopped pulsing.

Christmas Eve is traditionally when we come to my parents’ place, have supper and wine, sit around & gab, head to bed and wake up like it’s every Christmas morning ever. I love this. I have lived in this house on Christmas Day for 28 years. Coming down the creaky 17 stairs from the guest room (which used to be my bedroom) at 7 am to see my dad already shaved & reading in his armchair, lit by the Christmas tree and his reading light: this is Christmas morning. But first there is Christmas Eve.

In my quest for a pain-free existence, I acquired Aspirin (never taken it), Excedrin (thinking – it’s a headache – headache medicine will work) and generic Sudafed. The latter two carried me through dinner, when I started clogging up and aching again. I took a Tylenol Cold (night) after dinner, which made me pleasant company until 9:30, when the face pain started again so I took an Aspirin, just for fun. I read for a while and then, when the pain didn’t abate, took another Aspirin. Mom swears by the stuff, takes 3 when she has a headache and bam! she’s functional. At 10:30 I was lying there, lights out, sleepy but aware that my head was actually bobbing off the pillow, it was throbbing so hard.

My semi-lucid semi-waking thoughts over the last few days have circled like this:
Fucking naturopaths anyway. Never been so sick in one fall in my life.and
Where did I put that last unused prescription of Tylenol with Codeine?and
I wonder, if I hit myself really hard in the face, would it hurt more? Or less.
I added a new one tonight:
Aspirin is a piece of shit painkiller.

So, desperate and in tears, which of course makes more phlegm, which I certainly don’t need, I took two Tylenol Cold (Night) pills. 1000 mg of pain killer & 60 mg of decongestant, which just happens to also be a stimulant. For some people, like SA, the stimulant gets lost in all the pain killer and they just zonk out. Apparently my body loves this stuff so much it just licks the plate clean and to hell with the potential drowsiness. It is better to be awake but without pain than to be awake (and tired) with pain.

And so I came to be in my dad’s study, wrapped in a blanket at 1 am, catt now on my lap, waiting for the magic moment where the stimulant wears off but the pain killer is still working so I can maybe sleep for a couple hours.

But: maybe I’ll see Santa.

Have wonderful Christmases, everyone.

PS: Just read about Ripley’s Croup and Rowan’s Strep. Poor everybody! Hope we all get well soon.

Just now, amidst the crazed shopping traffic, two women stood on Robson St., each rubbing her forehead. One was moaning. They had collided with one another.

This should not be funny, and yet, it really really really is.

Yesterday, +8 degrees and sunny (with apologies to those in -27 degree weather),

we flew across town and back again

to decorate our Seasonal Shelf

closer?

even closer?

There is a song by the Pogues (the sans-Shane McGowan Pogues, obviously) called “Pachinko.” It features many pinball sound effects and a weird little chorus, ” I go deji pachi/ I go deji pachi/ I go deji pachi/ in my pachinko dream. I go uchi domi/ I go uchi domi/ I go uchi domi/ in my pachinko dream.” Not just the lyrics, but the actual tune, with its bazillion separate tracks, is whistling through my cavernous head as I type this.

First person to explain a) why this song is in my head and b) how to get it the fuck out gets a prize. If this means you have to come clean about the voodoo spell you cast on me where bad, obscure music haunts and taunts me, so be it. You’ll feel better, won’t you?

This morning, the ‘vark and I were talking about how many things we had to do today and how we both felt behind in life, generally. The dishes are piled up, the Christmas parcels are wrapped but not in the nether parts of the country as they should be. The catt hasn’t had a good flogging in over a week. We have a full fridge and cupboards but we’ve got nothing to eat. ‘Vark had the flu this week and I’ve not bounced back to my 100% SuperDefeator Self yet so we’ve just been neglecting things.

But all that was going to change today. As soon as I had finished my coffee, we were going to head out and tackle what was left of the world. I was responsible for our late start, as I only went to bed at 6:15 am after another night on the phones at the Crisis Centre.

It was then 1 pm. By 4:30, we had gone to Burnaby, sold our car and come back home with lighter hearts and fatter bank account.

Dear, sweet Gordo. May you find a clean, mould-free existence with your new owner. May your pipes blow only clean smoke and may your new fancy pants stereo system and roof racks please rather than cripple you. L’il Tercel, you took us where we needed to go and now we are setting you free.

And then
I acquired a blue tuque from my mom

only thing it needs is a pom pom

and maybe a palm frond.

Und, I got a kickass present at the Cool Kids Gift Exchange. Last night after work, we co-workers hung out at a pub and exchanged gifts blindly, after singing The 12 Days of Drinkmas, and I scored Implements of Destruction! A package of Sheffield sharp objects, including two multi-tools – one large, one small – a flashlight, a giant knife (see above photo) and a little keychain swiss army doodad. In a cherry-stained keepsake box! Everyone was like, ooh, don’t you wish you’d chosen the box that looked like chocolate. But I have never had so many stainless steel (god’s own material) tools that belong only to me. Let me get that can for you.

The best part? The guy who brought the Sheffield Sharp Objects Extravaganza to the gift exchange purchased it instead of a hot glue gun on the advice of a Home Depot Associate named Aphrodite.