Why is it that, as a mom, my needs pretty much always come last? At least that's the rationale I'm going with to defend my position against making a doctor's appointment... until now.
I felt a cold coming on, about a week before Thanksgiving. Oh, great. Just what every pie-making, cookie-baking, turkey-and-all-the-fixins Mama needs to feel when she knows she's going to be up against a marathon of a day. But, like a trooper, I persevered, getting all the dinner (and desserts) expertly done, in between sniffles, coughs and sneezes. Heck, I even felt somewhat GOOD on Thanksgiving. Perhaps I was only fooled by the euphoria of the day.
By Friday morning, the sore throat came back again in force. Once again, I bravely (or stupidly, depending on your side of the fence) ignored it, choosing instead to push ahead and get through the day, as only a mom with three kids home from school for Thanksgiving vacation (who were hopped up by an overload of apple pie, might I add) can do.
I'd casually mentioned to my husband, in my Robitussin induced stupor, that I'd like to put up the tree for Christmas that weekend. Silly me.
I woke up late on Sunday, after a ridiculously fitful nights sleep (I was coughing up half a lung all night long), and saw, with dread, that my well-rested husband had taken it upon himself to assemble our tree already. Poor guy... I know he meant well. But, all my weary body wanted to do at that point was go back from whence I came... and crawl underneath the covers and die.
But, once again, I persevered. I half-heartedly went through the boxes of lights, garland, ornaments, and other Christmas-y doo dads, and pretty much stopped at the tree and the mantel. Mind you, I typically have something... something that embodies the spirit of Christmas in each and every room of my house. My kids even have their own little Christmas trees, which I place in their bedrooms every year. Not this time, though.
After the tree and mantel were complete, and my homemade Advent calendar was hung, and the wreath was placed on our front door, and a few nick nacks were strewn about in the dining room, I called it quits. My husband gave me quite the quizzical look. I think, only then, he knew how sick I really was.
I spent the next week feeling about the same. Struggling to get through the days, doing just enough to get my kids to and from. Struggling even more to get through the nights, stealing what sleep I could in between brutal cough after brutal cough.
Finally, today, I decided enough is enough. I've thrown down the gauntlet. I called my doctor's office and made an appointment for ME. I'm to be seen by someone in my doctor's staff at 9:30 in the morning on Thursday. (I told the nurse who returned my call that I couldn't care less if I was to be seen by the janitor on duty, as long as he had the authority to write me a prescription for amoxicillin!).
So there you have it. I have succumbed. Now, please pray that I'll be better for Christmas!