Oink, oink

The Texan has an iron stomach and a stainless steel constitution. Therefore, it has come as a deep shock to her to get what appears to be full-fledged H1N1 influenza.  She has been down for three days now -- severe gastrointestinal distress and high fever. She says it's the worst she has ever felt in her life. Luckily, her fever started dropping in the wee hours of this morning.

I am still not showing symptoms.  At least, symptoms of flu -- it's a different story about symptoms of OCD.  I have been hand-washing compulsively, upping all my vitamins and taking walks to clear my head and keep my immune system activated without over-taxing it.  Every time I sniff, I worry that it is the start of the sore throat.  The third cup of coffee that is one too many acid-hits for my stomach? -- I wait, alarmed, for worse to follow. A light headache from too much soot in the air? (I absent-mindedly left the stew on the boil for a few hours a couple of nights ago) -- I take my temperature.  But nothing serious so far, so good.

In the meantime, based on my observations of the Texan's experience, I would recommend getting a flu shot (once vaccine becomes available).  I myself tend to put it off until the vaccine is gone -- aside from the fainting from the needle (Yes, my name is Vivi and I am a needlephobe), I routinely run a fever for 12 hours or so after the shot. (That is, despite repeated assurances from nurses and the media that the shots themselves do not make you sick. Hypochrondia or placebo or actual virus -- whatever causes the fever, real or imagined, I get the effect.)  However, a needle and 12 hours of a low fever is far preferable to the misery of 5 (or more) days of what the Texan is suffering.  So this year, if they get any more vaccine in stock, (and if I haven't already suffered the disease), I'm getting all the shots.

One Wedding and a Blood Clot (or two)

I went to Minnesota for a wedding (see previous), I stayed for a blood clot. Not my own, rather it belonged to, and was suffered by, Postnatus (my eldest brother). Poor guy -- he had a sore arm, but it led to 11 days of hospitalization and many many tests by the doctors, trying to figure out why a guy with a heart as regular and strong as Yellowstone's Old Faithful was getting clots in his arms.

I stayed over, to help out as I might. Which wasn't much, except getting Mater there and back. The VA Medical Center is near the airport, but you can only get there after navigating a tangle of old and new highways, complicated by the light rail, which neatly stops in front. Oh, and I served as ears and secretary -- writing down everything the doctors said and relaying it on to family members not present. I got home a week ago Thursday, and it's taken me this long to get back to blogging -- and I'm only barely here, bringing you up to date.

The photo atop is my pride in the wedding. The bridesmaids wanted to have a specific look for their veils, and I took it upon myself to achieve said look (since no one else was doing it). However, it proves (after shopping around at bridal shops and upscale -- and downscale -- fabric stores) that this veiling is not currently available to the general public. (It is known as "hat netting", or "Russian netting", by the way.) The knowledgeable ladies at Treadle in St. Paul said that it once was standard; went out with veiled hats, and now is in fashion again, but they can't get any to sell to their customers.

So I went to a vintage store, and bought some old hats. Stripped the veil off (it was similar, not identical), and created bridesmaids' veils with headbands (which I wrapped with ivory ribbon provided by the bride). They served as "something old" for the wedding. And then I forgot my camera, and took no photos of the final products.

The photo below is similar to my entry when I last visited MN, before Christmas. My color-coordinated companions, with whom I sleep. Or should I say, around whom I try to sleep.

Me Me Me and the Mystery Illness

Actually, things are happening at Cattus Dommus, but I haven't been moved to write about them. I have many photos, but few words.

However, Monday afternoon, my eyes started to swell. It was slow, starting on Sunday actually, but the rate of swelling increased significantly that evening, so that despite a night spent regularly applying cold compresses, by dawn yesterday one eye was virtually shut, and the other was not far behind. My whole face burned and itched at the same time, and the swelling was starting to push tissues into my nostrils so I was aware of my breathing. I won't say that I actually experienced troubles breathing, but in good hypochondriac fashion, I imagined a horrific death of allergy-imposed self-asphyxiation by tissue swelling.

To break the suspense, I'll tell you now that I'm fine. A trip to Urgent Care, and two daily doses of prednisone, and I'm almost back to normal, but for a slight puffiness and stretched, dry, somewhat itchy, red eyelids and cheeks.

Me at Starbucks at 11 a.m. yesterday, awaiting the prescription to be filled.

I've been told by One Who Knows that in 95% of cases, we never learn what caused the reaction. I have been taking antihistamines for weeks -- the Portland spring has been long and cold, and last weekend all the oaks and ashes bloomed at once. I don't think that's what caused this reaction alone -- I've never had a reaction as violent as this one before, and I haven't spent much time outdoors in the last few days. It could have been the new skin cream I was using, yet I had applied some on Saturday, with nary a tickle. Or a final critical mass of decomposing camellias, brought by Tasha, and piled outside both my windows and in stacks in my garbage pail, not counting the ones I haven't picked up yet, by her food dish, and on the way to the Favored Napping Chair. It could have been caused by the 15 minutes of sunshine I got on Saturday, although I was heavily sun-screened (but not hatted). It might have been some of the fumes from the water-based paint that HomoDomi is using in the basement, or stray trails of insulation from the attic project (more about that later).

Me at Starbucks, moments after the first photo, still awaiting my medication. Don't I look like I was beaten up? I'm actually trying to smile in the photo -- but I didn't feel much like smiling.

Maybe it was the perfect storm of allergens, all combined against me in one attack on the White Towers of Gondamy. Luckily, the Riders of Prednisohan came to the rescue.

I've had only one similar attack, in 1989 in Los Angeles. One eye swelled up dramatically -- but nothing near as bad as this, just enough to make me feel a pariah as I walked through the shops on Rodeo Drive, after buying a pair of posh eye-masking sunglasses. I've always assumed it was something pernicious in the smog -- the swelling went away naturally a day or two later, after I left the city. Portland can get bad smog -- we're many polluting people and cars surrounded by mountains, but they have air alerts on those windless days, and these tend to happen in baking August.

One of the side effects of prednisone -- which, by the way, must be the origin of the "bitter pill" metaphor, because it tastes horrific -- is "hyperactivity" or "craziness" according to the nurse practitioner who prescribed it to me, and the pharmacist (and, I guess, every commentator about Barry Bonds and other baseball players, despite denials of steroid-use). I have certainly noticed that I have had much more energy the last two days, after my doses, than any time the preceding two weeks. I believe I've been fighting allergies for some time now, which might explain the low word output. Either the hyperness is what I need to bring me back up to about normal levels of activity, or maybe the steroids are reducing the swelling of whatever it is that has been holding me down. I only get to take the drug for one more day, and I hope I can retain the energy level after that.

Me, noon today, 25 hours after the photos above, 2 doses of prednisone later. The camera washes out the red-purpley ness of the swelling, but even with the discoloration, I look much better than I did. There was a moment when I realized I was aware of my blinks -- that my eyes were open enough again, that the eyelid took time to traverse across the eyeball.