There's a lot of work to do here at the ol' homestead. Aside from the normal post-Christmas fallout to sort through, we also have a great big holiday extravaganza scheduled for this Saturday. It's always lots of fun, and since it's a pitch-in, no one person has to do a bunch of cooking. Generally, my kind of shindig.
But I'm starting to have ominous warning signs that all may not go as smoothly as I'd hoped... None of us have been very energetic since our bout with the uber-virus last month, but it seems to have been particularly draining for me. Last Saturday we went out for a yummy Chinese pre-Christmas dinner, then opened presents with my sister's family. On Sunday, Mark & I had breakfast with his sister, then after a long winter's nap, I went out with my cousins to look at Christmas lights in the evening.
None of this was particularly strenuous - I didn't even have to drive much. All I did was bathe, dress & eat, really. But it was apparently too much for my delicate system to handle. I awoke on Christmas Eve at about 1 in the afternoon, to find all the glands on the left side of my body swollen & tender. I ate some cereal, took my meds, then went back to sleep until about 5pm. Poor Mark had worked his cute little patootie off all weekend to have some free time on Christmas Eve, only to spend it watching me sleep. We did have a delicious ham dinner that evening, courtesy of Dad, but it was clear that Midnight Mass was no longer an option for me. So we tucked back up in bed & watched some TiVo to ring in the holiday.
Since then, I've had difficulty dragging my sorry carcass out of bed. I did manage to make an appearance at the Raymond family Christmas festivities on Tuesday, but I spent the majority of the holiday in bed. And the past 2 days haven't been much better. My glands do seem much less swollen today (yay!), but I'm still about as energetic as a ragmop.
And I awoke early this morning to an exciting new symptom: the good news is that it only affects one organ this time; the bad news is that it's my skin, which is... well, everywhere. I've had sore spots before, but they usually only affect one or two small areas at a time. But today, my ankles are screaming from the elastic band in my socks, the loose threads in my shirt tormented me until I just ditched it for a plush bathrobe, and I couldn't even stand it for Mark to touch me long enough to help me back upstairs after dinner (he often has to stand behind me & push, much as you would to get an elephant into a trailer).
Needless to say, this turn of events makes me feel less than optimistic about the impending Christmas party. At best, there's going to be a lot of last minute scrambling on my part to get my food prepared & to make the house presentable. Quite possibly, the whole thing may have to go on without me - which, to be fair, would probably only be a bummer to me for missing it. As guilty as I may feel for not helping enough, it wouldn't likely make much of a real difference in the amount of work everyone else has to do. My party-preparing capabilities have dwindled over the years to a point where Dad, Mark and the visiting team of Laura & John are usually responsible for the lion's share of the work, anyway. All I'd really need to do is give John my coveted Cheesy Potato recipe, and everything else should go along fine without me, I'd wager.
But it sure won't be very much fun for me... Of course, my girls would be excited to have the company, even if I'm too sore or tired to play with them. They're usually banished to our bedroom with the door locked during our parties, since much of the extended family is allergic to cats. So they're always stuck behind that closed door, listening to all the fun just outside & wishing they could be out there in the middle of the excitement, surrounded with laughter and merriment.
Unfortunately, this year it looks like I may find out for myself just how that feels.