I Can Sweep

The past week has been downright miserable for me. What I originally thought was the flu turned into a case of almost strep throat. I call it "almost" because even though I was suffering constant fevers and had an achy neck, back and hips, and even though my throat was really sore, it wasn't strep throat. The test administered by the nurse at CVS said so. "I wish that it would read positive so we can get you some medicine," the nurse said. "You don't look good." I wiped the sweat from my brow and tried not to think about the three cold sores stinging like hell in my mouth. I looked down at my t-shirt. It was spotted with perspiration and saltine cracker crumbs. "Well," I said. "You don't test good."

The fevers started Monday night. I remember lying in bed, wrapped burrito-style in sheets and a comforter, and thinking that it was possible that a cold front had moved in over the Southeast. I considered the fact that it's typically hot and balmy this time of year but I could not rule out the possibility of late season snow flurries. Stranger things have happened. Consider Sarah Palin. I mustered the strength to unwrap myself from the covers and proceeded to close the windows in our bedroom. I dug through my dresser for sweatpants and long sleeves. When I stood up on the bed to turn the ceiling fan off, I woke Erika. "What the hell are you doing?," she asked. "I'm dying in here it's so hot." She couldn't be serious. "You mean you're not cold? It's nearly snowing out there. Lemme just turn the fan down a bit." I lied awake for the rest of the night fully clothed like it was January not June and listened to my teeth chatter.

Advil helped to reduce my fever in the morning but I couldn't quite grasp where this sudden illness had come from. It's been so long since I've had the body aches, fever and headaches associated with the common flu. How do you even treat it? I was delusional. A snowstorm? I popped Advil and chugged orange juice. By noon I had already been to Whole Foods and purchased two different kinds of homeopathic sugar pills, more OJ, soup, and some super-loaded vitamin C concoction. Why do we do this? Why do we overdose on vitamins at the first signs of illness? It doesn't help. In fact it might make things worse. At the time, I felt like I was doing anything and everything to keep myself out of the hospital. By 3 p.m. I was a healthy human again. By 7, I was bundled up in my snowsuit and curled in the fetal position on the couch. My temperature had spiked to 104. Erika was nervous. I was dying.

Apparently brain damage occurs when your body temperature reaches 104 degrees. I can't find any evidence online to support this theory, but I've certainly struggled to follow a thought or string a sentence together ever since Tuesday night. I haven't been able to look at the computer screen without my eyes blurring. The front right side of my head has persistently throbbed since Monday. 104 is no joke. Half a bottle of Tylenol and 2 gallons of purple Gatorade later, my temperature was about normal and my wife was able to sleep.

On Wednesday morning Erika called my doctor. Another fever had pushed my temperature up to 102. I couldn't swallow. I was wheezy and coughing. My legs didn't work. The doctor was alarmed to hear about 104, surprised to know that I wasn't in the hospital and, judging by my symptoms, recommended that I get a throat culture to confirm that this was, in her professional opinion, a sure fire case of strep throat. Erika carried me to CVS and, well, you know how that turned out.

Other than having a grossly swollen neck and being unable to swallow solid foods on Thursday and Friday, I was doing okay. No fever and only a slight tinge of a headache to round out the week. So, having been cooped up inside the house for a few days, I decided to sweep the sidewalks and clean up the plant beds around my home. Let me tell you: I am a damn good sweeper. Push broom or the other kind, it doesn't matter. I can rake, too. I filled 7 brown yard waste bags to the brim with leaves, sticks and dirt. Today, I caught myself picking up a stray leaf on my sidewalk and looking up at the tree from which it fell, cursing it for having the nerve to drop its leaf on my clean concrete. I am out of control.

Call me 1.) because I'm healthy, and 2.) because I can sweep the varnish off your hardwoods. Go Cavs.