The Fever

"So my dad was in Wal-Mart and he heard these guys talking real loud" the five year old extrapolated. "'Whadya want to eat?' the one guy asked the other one," he continued "'Chicken in the box!' The guy said 'chicken in the box'!" and the kid erupted in laughter, then roared "CHICKEN IN THE BOX!!" over and over. For some reason I couldn't stop laughing either.

I ran into one of my old art school professors a couple of months ago. It was strange to see him, like visiting a moment from your forgotten past. He was awesome, just like he always was and still working and creating great stuff, just like he always was. "What are you up to?" he asked me. "I am an elementary school Spanish teacher" I answered. His eyes widened in surprise. He encouraged me, just like he always did and I left him feeling sad and wondering who I really am and which of the many identities I have encompassed in my life is the real one.

And then I was struck down. I started the week with a swollen, painful injury to my foot that completely derailed my advancing jogs around the park. I visited my doctor, who told me that I have a bone problem that I really do not want to discuss but am in no way pleased by. I limped through the week. A dry, itchy cough entered my repertoire last Thursday. It continued on Friday, interrupting my lessons with hacking coughing fits. By the time school let out, I was having trouble standing up and colliding with walls and doors when I did. I went home and collapsed. I felt confused and wasn't sure if I was awake or asleep as my brain obsessed and cycled over and over again through my many problems at work. At one point I made myself wake when my head hurt; I realized I was shoving it into the arm of a chair. I was praying for the night to end and for the daylight to return. Alec got me up and took my temperature. "101.5, Hilary, that's kind of high" he told me.

I remember, after three weeks of hiking high in the mountains of Nepal, climbing downhill on our return to Kathmandu. It was the easy part. Suddenly, I realized I really couldn't do it anymore and told Alec that we needed to check in to a hostel, though it was the middle of the day, and I collapsed on the bed without even taking my hiking boots off. This was the beginning of multiple feverish days of 104 degree temperatures and confused hallucinations, before I was finally able to rise and finish the remaining four day walk to the capital.

On Saturday, I got out of bed for ten minute stretches, only to be exhausted and lie back down. My temperature continued to rise to 102. "Take this" Alec told me, giving me aspirin to reduce the fever. I fell firmly asleep and woke up that evening lying in a pool of sweat. I was able to get up. I am horrified that elementary age children can give me a flu so retching that it can only be compared to the dysentery I picked up in a third world country.

The fever had broken and though I didn't feel good, I was not hallucinating. It was a huge relief. I went to bed that night, and the visions started again. I got up Sunday morning and again was drenched in sweat. I took a lot of over the counter medicines and prepared for work on Monday. I went to bed early, my stomach sore from coughing and chest feeling like it was full of cement. And then the visions began again, the tossing and turning, the work obsessions, I couldn't tell if I was sleeping or waking. I woke up, exhausted. And called my boss and told her I wasn't coming to work. "Okay" she snapped "they'll have to cancel Spanish today!".

I laid back on my bed and broke out in a heavy, freakish sweat. And then I slept.