I’m not dead yet

Forced smile, reclining on the couch where I’d spent most of the day | Photo by Nick B Brown

My parents flew the coop for Italy a few days ago and left me with a charming parting gift - the flu. At first I thought it was the result of too much whiskey, consumed on Saturday night in an attempt to stay warm at Lessli hockey game. After an hour of emptying my stomach - quite soberly I might add - I resigned myself to sleeping on the bathroom floor. (Ken and Lessli - aren’t you glad you took Riley home after the hockey game?)

Sunday afternoon, I was still shivering in my fleece coat, woolly hat and long johns, thankful that my scheduled ski lesson had been postponed until next weekend (a weird, but fortuitous coincidence). The fever broke around 7 p.m. and I slept solidly through the night, moving only once to take my socks off.

This morning, I checked the damage on the scale - down 4.5 pounds. Not bad for consuming only a pint and a half of water, two tortilla chips, a bite of banana and six saltines the day before.