I am having to be far more careful at drupalcon than I'd hoped. Instead of doing a full-blown free-for-all, I'm having to be choosy about what I do -- and I'm choosing to go to sessions. I came down with something nasty either in Huntsville or in Minnesota, and it was in full swing by the time I landed in San Francisco. What had originally been just an angry tickle in the back of my throat was so bad I couldn't swallow solids or liquids without pain.

I've been living on cough drops since then, trying to keep myself hydrated and medicated. I'm feeling very worn at the end of each day. I'm sneezing a bit, and I'm hoping that either this a) won't move to my ears or b) will be done with my ears before Saturday night when I fly.

"Well, if you need me to take you to the doctor's office, call me back and let me know. Today's a quiet day. I can do it."

"I think I'll be able to manage. Thanks, though."

I hung up the phone and lay back on the couch. Maybe I'd get some sleep. I set an alarm clock, just in case, and closed my eyes. Only to cough. Again. I put another pillow behind my back and pulled the blanket up a little higher.

I looked down when I heard the little interrogative chirp?, knowing it meant only one thing—Edmund warning me that he was about to jump on my chest. I patted my chest and he hopped up, great lumbering tub of lard he is, and snuggled on my chest. He beamed a kitty smile at me and purred, gently flexing his front claws in rhythm with his breathing.

I spoke with one of the nurses at my GP's office today, and I will be seen this afternoon. They're concerned at how long this mystery illness has held on, and I [unfortunately?] made the mistake of coughing while I was on the phone.Apparently I have the unmistakable rattle of Peruvian Death Flu.

So! In the true spirit of this website, and my sick sense of humor … place your bets. What do I have? Bonuses for creativity of answer or whatever I feel is worthy of a bonus (or just not coughing on).

Days of elevated temperature: ten. Though, it should be noted, today was the first day my temperature never hit 100°F. Progress!I have seen the inside of my lungs, and they are bright yellow. We'll just leave it at that. No part of my body should be bright neon yellow. Yuck.

If I can cough, I can breathe, and if I can breathe, I'm still here. 'Here' is a relative term, though, and one whose definition will change a few times in the coming weeks. More so than I'd planned even a month ago, and more so than I've said publicly.I have a plane ticket with my name on it, a ticket that will send me away for a week for a trip that's been delayed since October for various reasons. Instead of an exciting, action-packed Vacation!™ I think I will be … escaping. Resting. I will be gone for a week, and I have zero plans for that week.

Just checked with a friend. It's apparently Friday. I've been sick since last Saturday.

I appear to be on the downhill side, but this illness is not going gentle into that good night. Temps are currently not at the 102°F level that worried spouseling and me both, but they're refusing to drop to normal levels.

Lots of coughing.
Lots of sleeping.

Have the suspicion that I have been kicked in the head in the past week.

Current temp is 102°F. I am currently incubating some nonspecific virus—that is not influenza—which currently thinks I am teh hawtness.

Or it's making me that. Whatever.

Jeff is tending me, all but putting the ibuprofen in my mouth every six hours, and bringing me things like Gatorade and cool washcloths for my neck.

Note to self. Keep spouse.

At least PHE is over. I can take as long as I need to get well. There's no timetable.

Monday night: "Uh, I don't think we should go to the movies tonight. I feel kinda funny. I'm gonna lie down, I think."

Tuesday: "Why does this thermometer say my temp is 102°F?"

Wednesday morning, Dr. Fisher: "You have the flu, Jeff. Here's a prescription for Tamiflu. Don't go back to work before Monday."

Better. Much better.

My white cell count has dropped to 8,000, which is back down to within normal ranges. My chest x-rays are much clearer than they were last week, and my sounds & volume are much better than they were before. We did one last breathing treatment with albuterol, and he instructed me to go home and rest.

The strength of the antibiotic I'm on right now is causing … uh … issues, but this was anticipated. I don't have to return for another follow-up treatment unless I am still wheezing by Thursday.

Total weight lost on the Pneumonia Weight Loss Plan: five pounds.

Now, for your amusement, I present a demonstration of the sheer size of the Edmund, and his true shamelessness when he wants his belly rubbed. Click on the photo to get the full goodness:

So here's your update, or your scorecard, or whatever.

I have pneumonia. Jeff has bronchitis. The hacking and wheezing is a sight to behold, but the good news is that nobody's going to the hospital—hooray! My white cell count has dropped from 18,000 to 15,000, which still isn't good, but it's an improvement and indicates I'm responding to antibiotics. Jeff's currently stands at 16,000. (Normal? 4,500-10,000 per microliter)

We are sad and pathetic, but we are sad and pathetic together, and that's what counts.